


Lifeline

by helenagray



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-10
Updated: 2015-11-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 06:57:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 46,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1077938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/helenagray/pseuds/helenagray
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Janeway is lost under mysterious circumstances, the Voyager crew and its acting Captain relentlessly search, all but tearing the Delta Quadrant apart with their bare hands. But hope fades, time passes, and the crew must move on. Not all of them can...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_It's warm where she is. There's a steady humming beneath her feet - it's a welcome sound, always comforting, as is the scattered conversation that surrounds her. She glances around the room - it's crowded - and she's filled with calm, steady emotion. Pride, happiness, and something distinctly maternal. She's worried about them - not in the sense of an impending crisis, but in a general, underlying way - and she closes quickly on the feeling that she'd do anything to protect them. She sips at a cup of coffee, its warm, aromatic character fulfilling her in a way that is welcome and expected. Everything is as it should be._ ****

_A voice draws her attention, and she looks across the table, smiles. He asks how she slept. She feels a familiar pang, emanating from within her core. She takes a breath and puts it back in place with a practiced ease. It's familiar and it's right._

_They converse over their breakfasts - easy chatter that comforts, helps them prepare for the day. Whatever's in store, she is not alone. For not the first time, or the last, she wonders how she will ever repay him for all these years of sharing her burdens and lightening her heart, in all the simple ways he is able._

_It's warm and she is not alone and the steady humming beneath her feet is exactly what it should be..._

It was wet. Cold.

She awoke, her mind disoriented as she emerged into consciousness.

The moss covering her body was the first thing she registered - her hands streamed over it, seeking a comfort that wasn't there.

Water was slowly leaking in, seeping between the leaves and branches above her. Another spit hit her face, and she sat up, wiped it away.

She realized her hair was soaked, and looking back at the ground that had been her bed she wondered how long she'd been sleeping in a puddle. She said a silent prayer to no one in particular that the sun would shine today, that there would be some warmth.

Fully aware of her surroundings now, she was suddenly stricken with an icy panic. Her breath caught in her chest as she reached out and felt around the floor, searching frantically in the dim light.

She'd fallen asleep clutching it, she was sure.

She flipped up the mats of moss, breaking much of it apart in the process, and then her hand finally closed on the soft material. She brought it up to her face, closed her eyes and breathed in a scent that was no longer there (but that she could still somehow conjure), inhaling deeply and willing her racing heart to slow.

She wrapped the scarf around her neck, looping it twice, and crawled out of the shelter.

The rain had stopped, but the tree above her debris hut still dripped from its branches.

It was fully light but cloudy, which made it hard to guess at the time of day. Then she spotted the sun, the faint sphere shining diffusely about 30-degrees above the horizon. The clouds were thin.

She scanned the landscape out of habit. It had been a while since she'd glanced around with a sense of hope - or with the curiosity once second nature to her.

Standing on slightly unsteady legs, she squeezed the water from her hair then brushed a few stray bugs from her body, the latter more from routine than concern. She'd long since grown used to sharing her shelter with insects of all kinds.

She felt better this morning, but as she went about gathering leaves and moss to repair the roof of her shelter, she fought against the impulse to crawl back inside and sleep the day away. There was no real or compelling reason not to, and the chance to return to the morning's pleasant dreamland was certainly an argument in favor.

Shivering as she stuffed the foliage between the hut's branches, clearing the waterlogged clumps away, she decided that she would stay here for one more night and then continue traveling south. Get away from here before winter took hold. She was well enough now and if she didn't push on soon - well, her fate would be a cold and frozen one, and, although she greeted most things these days with a detached, tired apathy, she knew for certain that _that_ was not the way she wanted to die.

Early on, when she'd still had a bountiful reservoir of energy - when her heart was still full of hope, and the formidable, stubborn strength to survive - she'd managed to learn a great deal about the planet she now roamed. She'd built her own sextant, starting with a circle fashioned from a long, thin stick, which she'd marked off in halves until she had a semi-useful scale from which to approximate angular size. It had taken some time to construct the device itself, and while the end product was rather crude and definitely not exact, she'd been proud of it. Almost as proud as the first night she managed to start a fire.

She'd watched the stars in those first weeks, charting them on thin strips of bark that she scratched with a stick, then later marked with ink she'd made from plant material. She'd felt such _hope_ looking up at the heavens then, as if _they_ were close, and getting closer _._ Everything she held dear was up there, and she'd regarded and mapped each star, each nebula she could discern by her naked eyes, with a tender affection that ran straight into her soul. She'd loved those sky objects - they were her connection to everything that she was, and, at that time, all she believed she would be again.

From her charting and measurements, she'd discerned some key things about her environment, including the fact that the planet was tilted approximately 24 degrees relative to its parent star, and thus likely had a seasonality similar to Earth's (though she did not know the planet's average solar distance, the eccentricity or speed of its orbit, or the central star's classification, and therefore could not guess at the exact nature or length of the seasons). And she'd figured her initial latitude - approximately 64 degrees. In exploring the immediate vicinity, she'd found her location to be very continental. In the high-mid-latitudes, and without the influence of a nearby ocean, she knew the region would likely see a harsh winter. It was spring-like when she'd... _arrived_...but it wouldn't last forever. She'd decided to travel south, in search of a more equatorial climate. Back then, she hadn't seriously imagined she would see a winter on this world, but her practical nature had her making choices with survival in mind.

In addition to her sky charting, she'd studied the regional biota, cataloging it in the same fashion - on strips of bark. A scientist and an explorer, it came easily, and it helped to pass the time. She'd found no evidence of any breed of humanoid life, on the ground or in the sky, but there was a rich abundance of flora and fauna. It was comforting early on.

She'd spent the summer learning all she could about the planet and carving out her survival with her bare hands while slowly trekking south. Skills she'd learned but seldom used resurfaced and hardened of necessity. She'd taken pride in all she'd done early on, and knew that, when they arrived for her, they'd be impressed with all she'd accomplished from nothing.

Now, with winter descending and seeming impossible to escape fast enough, and with the thrill of prevailing in her rugged existence long gone, a deep despair was threatening. The sheets of bark that she'd once worked on so dutifully were strewn about the camp haphazardly, forgotten. The many tools she'd built lay scattered, lately unused. Alone - so very alone - she struggled in even her best moments to hold on to her sense of self.

She'd fallen ill several weeks ago, and had been certain, in the darkest throes of fever and pain, that death was imminent. The pounds had slipped from her body, immobile and overcome as it was, and an all-consuming, fervid insanity nearly claimed her completely. There was one thing that helped her hold on, that gave her resource to fight, though there were times when her very clinging to the inanimate object made her feel as if she were slipping. But it was all she had, and, to this day, she was certain that without the dark scarf she now wore around her neck, she would have perished, lost to fever and pain with no memory of the person she had been. A year ago, she would not have considered such a thing plausible - that she would garner so much, body and soul, from something so insignificant. A simple, long rectangle of knitted and weathered wool - but it was everything.

_Find some food, Kathryn._

More often than not, the voice in her head was not her own. At times it was her mother, or her sister. Sometimes it was Tuvok. Usually it was Chakotay. "Hearing" her name, the directness with which they "spoke" to her, helped her hold on to what was left of her identity, fragile as it now was. She was not some anonymous, nameless soul, as her isolation threatened, towering over her - she was _someone_ and she had had a life.

_Or perhaps she was simply going insane._

The shelter repaired to some degree, she headed for the stream.

Some part of her smiled (somewhere, _probably_ \- in the part of her that remembered how) when she imagined him watching her catch a fish with her bare hands. It was a skill that had not come easily - it required patience, a meditation, almost, that she did not naturally possess. After her first, she'd-guessed-flukey success, she was certain she'd never be able to do it again, but something had driven her to try. Hunger, for sure - but it was also the thought that it would impress him.

Early on, she'd fashioned a fishing rod using a stick and some vine, but the fish had not responded to it. She'd tried every kind of bait she could find, to no avail. Frustrated after many attempts one day, she'd collapsed onto the bank by the stream, where she remained for hours, staring out at the water and watching the gentle current, the swirling eddies, and the many fish swimming beneath. Then, on sudden impulse (her hunger perhaps having spent her brain somewhat), something had driven her to lunge forward sharply, and reach into the water. Her motion was primal and lightning-quick, and when she actually came up with a fish, she had laughed and laughed - a sound she hadn't heard or uttered in what seemed like forever.

Leaning down close to the stream now, she scooped water into cupped hands, drank and then splashed some of the cold liquid on her face. She could not bring herself to bathe in its icy depths. Luckily, she was beyond caring about, and hardly even noticed anymore, her filth. She was of the land, this planet.

She sat back on the bank and watched the fish, swimming circles as they searched for their own food. She wasn't sure if it was a mark of insanity, or the opposite, that she enjoyed (or whatever the correct word was that implied not so much _real_ enjoyment, but more a desperate, twisted experiencing of things not completely unpleasant) catching them this way.

It didn't take long - her hand flew into the water with an energy she wasn't sure how she still possessed, and quickly emerged with a catch. She dug her fingers into the fish's body, gripping as it struggled against asphyxiation, and then slammed it against a rock.

The creatures had become such a regular part of her diet, she wasn't sure how she'd cope without them. Another reason to hasten her trek to the south. This steam was shallow enough to freeze through, should the winter prove deep (which it surely would), and trapping land animals had not proven her strong suit.

She gutted the fish with a pointed stick, ripping out its bones and leaving them beside the stream. She did this without thinking - it was routine. Automatic.

Back up at her camp, she built up a fire, welcoming its warmth. She skewered the fish onto a branch and stuck it above the flame.

Watching the flesh heat up, perspiring as it cooked, her thoughts wandered.

It was always a terrifying prospect, leaving camp. And she would depart almost empty-handed. She'd take a couple of her tools, maybe, but that was really all. She had nothing else of worth and she would reconstruct the other things she needed along her route - shelter, coverings, etc. She was alone with the land.

She'd been stranded before on a planet not entirely unlike this one. But it had been with an arsenal of supplies - literally everything needed to live comfortably. The hikes they took then, away from their home base, they'd filled their packs with food and supplies, and it was exciting to venture out, not terrifying.

The hikes _they_ took...

How different everything was now, in solitude.

She'd lost track of the days somewhere after 100. She no longer kept count, nor cared to. One hundred had done something to her. It was a meaningless number, based on this planet's particular rate of rotation (which she knew was slightly faster than Earth's), but, for whatever reason, once she'd spent 100 days alone on the planet, something in her concluded that rescue was no longer likely. That it was, in fact, rather unlikely. Damn near impossible, really.

She didn't blame them.

Thinking back over the events that brought her here, it was quite likely that they'd concluded her dead. She knew they'd made every effort. That they'd searched for and found leads, followed them (recklessly, even), trying every avenue, every possibility. She knew they had not moved on easily. But, the needs of the many...

She _wanted_ them to move on. It was a truth that emanated from her soul even as loneliness and despair threatened to overtake her.

_He would get them home._

Her mind lingered there, and she clutched at the scarf with her free hand. Drawing away from her anguish - the deep, bottomless pool that could so easily pull her under - she pictured him - every turn of his features, his form. Still a crystal-clear image in her mind. Even now, this far away, she drew strength from him, for whatever it was worth anymore.

She wondered, if she known back then that it would someday be all she had - that he would be her lifeline on dark days, which these days were _all_ days - would she have done things differently?

The strips of bark where she had written out her feelings would be left behind tomorrow, to weather and wash away.

But she would carry him with her, and the scarf - a last remaining physical link to her life, to him - until the day that her mind could no longer conjure his image, his voice. Lost to her impending insanity or an aged and weathered mind.

Even if her body lived on after, _that_ would be the day she died.


	2. Chapter 2

_Voyager_ ****

Chakotay felt the collective gaze of those gathered around him even as he avoided it, staring instead at a meaningless point on the table.

They waited, patiently - weighed down in their own way by the sorrow that hung over the room, that had permeated the last many weeks. It was heavy and thick, pushing them low into their chairs, dragging on their shoulders, as if the ship's gravity was turned up a notch. But no one felt it as profoundly as Chakotay, who stood, but barely.

They'd wait all day if needed, frozen in place, holding the inevitable at bay - for him, and because none of them were eager for the duty coming next.

The decision was ultimately his, and they knew how impossibly his heart broke having to make it. He hadn't slept in days; hadn't slept _well_ in months.

Not yet spoken, the truth was encroaching. Taking hold. Like a vise grip closing around the throat. He didn't _need_ to say what they already knew, but he was obligated.

He stood motionless, staring now at a patch of nothingness in the rear of the room and gripping the back of his chair. Leaning into it. It was all he could do to keep from collapsing into a heap, exhaustion and despair having finally spent him. He'd visibly aged in the past months, the burdens he carried evident on his frame and in his posture.

Years of training, in and out of Starfleet, were failing him. Despite their silent support, he'd never felt so alone in a room full of his closest colleagues - his friends.

The moment he'd been dreading had come. He could no longer put it off, and as he stared at the wall the only thing he could think of was how Kathryn would know exactly what to say right now. And how damn _wrong_ everything was without her.

He pictured her circling the table, stopping at every chair, offering to each member of the senior staff, by mere proximity, her support and reassurance. And after that she'd return to his side, where her strength would mix with his, bolstering them both and making the very act of _continuing_ possible. She'd put her hand on his arm, and they'd share unspoken thoughts - that they were there for each other, that _together they could do this_. Those stolen moments, while brief, had always meant so much.

He wasn't sure how much time had passed before he finally spoke. _(Minutes, hours, days?)_

"It's time we resumed our course."

There was silent acknowledgement around the room - he felt their shifting gazes as they looked at each other, and then back at him. He still couldn't look at their faces - he knew they offered sympathy, tinged with pity, and while they meant well, he wanted none of it right now. And he had nothing to offer them in return. Kathryn would have - she'd always given every last ounce of herself to them - but he'd never be for them what she had been.

He was tired - tired of always being watched and observed. Tired of having his health and mental well-being the subject of conversation ship-wide. And he was tired of people telling him it would "get better with time". It was such an empty, meaningless platitude, and it brought just about as much comfort as a phaser blast to the stomach. If anything, it made him feel worse. He was dying inside, and frankly, he had no wish to stop it. Didn't give a damn what time did with itself - it would never make him whole again, not with a loss like this towering over him. Of that he was certain.

_He was tired._ His mind drifted off, numbing his sense of body. _(He'd done it, made the decision, sealed their fate, *her* fate - maybe his obligation to them was over now. Maybe he could disappear now.)_

Tom Paris stood then, and put a firm, steady hand on Chakotay's shoulder. The contact drew his attention back - he refocused on his surroundings and managed a small nod at the younger man. Tom was one of the few who hadn't suggested "time" as the antidote for his ails, and honestly, he understood better than most what Chakotay was going through. His support had been steadfast through everything, and Chakotay had to admit, as Tom offered that support again now, it was not unwelcome.

It was Tuvok who spoke next, on the other topic they had to discuss.

"We must hold a memorial service."

Chakotay swallowed hard. He looked back at Tom automatically, unchecked anguish flashing in his eyes.

Tom nodded in understanding. "I'll take care of it," he said in a low voice.

Chakotay offered silent thanks in his gaze, a sudden flush of gratitude coursing through him, affording him a much-needed deep breath, and then he turned to acknowledge Tuvok, meeting the Vulcan's dark eyes for the first time since they'd gathered for the briefing. "Yes. We will of course have a... _memorial_ ," he managed - but the last word felt like a bitter poison on his lips.

Tuvok nodded, his expression neutral, as always, but Chakotay perceived in his gaze a hint of profound sadness. It was not more than an echo, but Chakotay guessed that beneath the Vulcan's carefully-disciplined exterior there ran a turbulent sea. He knew Tuvok and Kathryn had had a long history, and a deep, abiding friendship - one he'd envied at times, early on. He knew they would never truly relate in their experiencing of this loss, but Chakotay felt a moment of kinship as he felt Tuvok's grief.

For Chakotay, of course, it was more than the loss of his commanding officer, his friend - it was the loss of a future he hadn't fully realized he'd been planning on. Images of that future played in his mind without permission, at moments odd and not - a cruel refrain, now devoid of hopefulness and warmth. Such would be the way of things now.

He was tired, and he was ready for this meeting to be over. All that remained were the formal orders.

"Tuvok, take the bridge. Resume our course to the Alpha Quadrant."

He could hear Kathryn's voice in his head, giving those same orders on countless occasions - to set a course for home. Always she said it without despair, as if "home" really was simply a destination they would reach. He knew her better than that, of course, and he had weathered with her through some very dark moments, when her equanimity had wavered and hopelessness threatened to win out. _What a burden she had carried all those years. That_ thought threatened to squeeze the remaining, pulsing life from his heart. He could have done more - he _should_ have done more for her. And now...

He dismissed the senior staff, and then watched numbly as they slowly exited for the bridge. Except for Tom, who for his part hadn't moved from Chakotay's side and was regarding him, evaluating, and seeking words of comfort.

"We did everything we could," he offered. "She wouldn't want us to stay beyond all hope - hell, she probably wouldn't have even wanted us searching like we did in the first place. Everything we do now, we do _for_ her, to honor her. She's in everything now. She'd want us to continue home."

He searched Chakotay, attempting to discern whether his words had any impact. He knew better than to think they'd actually _help_ at this point, but in time, he hoped they would.

"Thank you, Tom," Chakotay said finally. The simple acknowledgement was more than Tom had hoped for. They shared a moment of silence, then he moved to exit to the bridge, where he'd take the helm and physically steer the ship away. He stopped short when Chakotay spoke again.

"Tom...thank you for your friendship. It's meant a lot to me."

The younger man nodded and then left to his duties, leaving Chakotay alone in the briefing room. Soon, _Voyager's_ engines would pulse with life, and, then, in the blink of an eye, they'd be off. Gone from this part of space forever.

Chakotay exited to the corridor and retreated for the solitude of his quarters. _He couldn't be on the bridge when..._

He arrived at his door just as the ship jumped to warp.

_It was over - they were on their way._ Heading: Alpha Quadrant.

From inside his quarters, Chakotay watched the stars stream by. He knew Tom was right, but that didn't ease the hollowness in his chest, or the sick feeling in his stomach. All of their searching... Ten months of chasing down leads had brought nothing but dead-ends and disappointment.

Every logical, reasonable conclusion said she was lost to them, but the evidence had not been conclusive, and there had been no body. _Not knowing for_ _certain_ would probably consume him more than anything. He imagined he would carry forever, the unrelenting, heartbreaking feeling that they'd abandoned her. That he'd failed her yet again.

He knew he was too close to it, that he had long since ceased to think objectively on the matter of Kathryn's disappearance. That his ability to command was compromised by the burdens of his heart, and that he could no longer see straight when it came to _Voyager_ \- or anything really.

It was so clear now. His feelings, honed and sharpened by hindsight and tragedy, were undeniable and unmistakable.

And now, he would never get to tell her how much she meant to him.

_How much she'd meant to him._

He doubted he'd ever get the tenses right.

He'd told her, in so many ways, but not the one way he still needed to, longed to. Now he needed to pull himself together and...do what?

Take up where she left off. Lead them home. _Honor her_ by doing so.

He was no longer certain that he could - in fact, he rather doubted he'd be of use to this crew at all anymore. Their tireless search had brought him purpose, driving him forward as they sought after one clear goal. He felt none of that purpose as _Voyager_ resumed its pursuit of home. He felt no drive, no desire to even get there.

He sighed, but it was empty, without a release of tension. He knew he needed time, needed to mourn properly. _But how do you mourn when doubt lingers?_

He imagined that this was how their loved ones back in the Alpha Quadrant must have felt before they'd learned _Voyager_ and its crew had not perished all those years ago. You get to a point where you just have to start living again - or you don't.

He stripped off his uniform, tossed it carelessly onto the floor, and collapsed onto the bed. He was surprised when drowsiness began to overtake him, and he quickly drifted off, sleep mimicking, mocking the emptiness that filled him...


	3. Chapter 3

Chakotay woke with a start, pulse pounding in his head, breathing labored. He tensed reflexively against the icy adrenaline pumping through his veins, and for a moment he was girding for a fight. Then lucidity claimed him and the dream scene fell away, leaving him awash in a foggy uneasiness, his chest heavy as his body sought recovery. ****

The sheets were twisted around him, wet with perspiration - familiar. _This_ was how he woke up more often than not anymore. Sleep had become an extension of his waking unease, rarely offering a physical and mental reprieve. He knew the doctor could give him something for it, but he wasn't ready for that. _Medicating_...it felt too much like erasure - like letting go. He _needed_ the nightmares. More, he thought - _he deserved them._

He called for lights - low. And _the time._

He'd slept for less than two hours, and he was relieved - though he wasn't sure why it mattered (asleep, awake - every minute that passed drew them away at high warp). Palms on his chest, he closed his eyes and focused on the rise and fall of his breath.

Bits and pieces of the dream came back to him as he willed some calm into his body - and of course it had been about Kathryn.

_Kathryn._ She who continued to fill his world, even in her absence.

Somehow, it just wasn't possible that she was gone - that _they were going_.

_Reality was even worse than the nightmares._

He sat up, turned his gaze to the windows, where the stars streamed by, beyond his power - visual evidence of the _reality_ in which he did not know how to position himself. _Voyager_ moved them on and away, and the sensation felt foreign, like he didn't belong.

_I'm so sorry, Kathryn_.

He felt her loss like a lead weight in his gut - and then, in the next breath, reality mixed with disbelief and denial and he just couldn't fathom that she was really _gone_.

He forced himself to get up, cursing his tired legs and exhausted body, weakened by months of neglect.

Beneath his feet, _Voyager's_ engines pulsed with life.

_Voyager_.

It was his ship now. Except, it never could be - not really.

In the 'fresher, he splashed cold water on his face and stared long at the mirror. As he took in his harrowed features - lines and curves he barely recognized...eyes an empty, ghostly echo of the man he used to be - he knew for certain he was not the one to lead _Voyager_ now. That he just wasn't a part of it anymore. That he _couldn't_ be a part of it - not now. Not in the capacity required, not in a way that would do them justice, that would... _honor her._

He splashed more water on his face, welcoming the cold liquid as it sobered him further. He took a deep breath in, closed his eyes on the exhale. And again...

_Just. Breathe._

Palms open at his sides, long breaths in and out, he willed equanimity into his body.

Moments later, he made a decision.

It had been there, in the recesses of his mind, since the moment he realized _Voyager_ would have to move on. As he breathed life into the choice he hadn't allowed himself to consider fully until now, he knew, with everything he was, that it was the _only_ path he could rightly travel.

He called Tom Paris to his quarters, then sat by the windows in the living room and waited. For the first time in many months, a profound calm filled him.

It didn't take long for Tom to arrive - Chakotay granted access at the chime, and the doors opened obediently, revealing his friend and colleague, standing in the entryway.

"Tom, please come in."

"Com...uh, Captain." He stepped into the room and took quick note of Chakotay's calmed demeanor. He looked... _different._ "Did you get some rest?"

"More or less."

Tom considered that for a moment, then nodded. He moved to stand near the dining table, posture not at attention but close.

Chakotay cut to the chase - he didn't want to draw this out. "I'm leaving Tuvok in command, and you're to serve as his second."

Tom's mouth fell open and his brain fumbled for words. Chakotay held up his hand, halting the younger man's impending protests.

"He will need you, Tom. He can lead the ship, but you will have to guide the crew - the people. You will have to carry them through when _logic_ cannot. They respect him; they will obey him. But they will need _you_."

"Commander - _Captain_...I'm...you're..." Speech had simply failed him.

"I'm going back," he confirmed. "I can't ask this crew to risk anything more, or to delay any longer. But I can't live with myself if I don't keep trying. I'm as good as worthless to you all like this, and the more distance we put between - "

_Between_ _us and the Captain.._. He couldn't say it, fearing that somehow, voicing the words, his hopes, would mean their undoing.

He didn't have to say it. Tom Paris knew him well by now. Their friendship had assumed a new depth months ago, when Tom had been the first to ask about his feelings for Kathryn. He'd already known then, the answer to his simple question, but he had recognized what it would mean for Chakotay to say it out loud.

Standing before his friend now, Tom straightened, his objections and protests - all the reasons Chakotay should not do this - now gathered and ready.

Then he met Chakotay's eyes, and in an instant, it all fell away. He understood - _of course he understood._ Painfully, he understood. He realized it was why he was standing here instead of anyone else.

Filled with equal parts dread and sad acceptance, he looked down at the table. "We're...really going to miss you." 

* * *

 

As soon as Tom left, with a promise to keep things quiet, Chakotay started packing. It was quite likely he'd never see the ship again, but he didn't dwell on that thought. He'd have to deal with that pain at some point, but _not now_.

The fact of the matter was, _Voyager_ didn't feel like _home_ anymore. Home, in fact, was no longer a _place_ at all. Leaving would be hard, but staying would be harder.

And they didn't _really_ need him. Not like they had needed her, anyway.

Focused and full of purpose once again, the gathering and packing of his belongings was not hard. He didn't mull over his treasured possessions; instead he crated them efficiently, quickly. Tom had suggested they double-back, bring Chakotay directly to Koldera space, but he'd said no - he couldn't ask that of the crew. Then he'd suggested they drop out of warp immediately, to at least shorten his journey back, but Chakotay didn't want a big, public display of his departure. They'd stop this evening as scheduled - a brief break for the engines and some routine maintenance - and at that point, he'd take his leave. The journey in a shuttlecraft would take longer, but it would give him time to review data surrounding the Koldera mission, and to map out his course of action.

He planned to get everything ready on the shuttle well before evening, and he hoped his departure later would be quiet and unceremonious.

Soon, the bulk of his worldly possessions were stowed in his luggage. His next task would not be so easy, but it was just as important.

He hesitated briefly before exiting his quarters, worried for a moment about the secret he carried - that he'd run into a member of the crew and then suddenly, news of his impending departure would spread across the ship. But as filled to the brim as he was with anticipation of his journey and its purpose, he imagined he did not wear his feelings on his sleeve. At least not _that_ much.

He exited into the corridor and briskly took the few steps required to reach the Captain's quarters. He glanced up and down the hallway, keyed in the access code, and quickly slipped inside.

Empty for many months now, the room smelled like the ship's recycled air and nothing else.

He ordered the lights on low and took a deep breath. He hadn't come here in almost a month - as if he'd been unable to "face her" as he wrestled with the decision for _Voyager_ to move on. Before that, he'd come often.

At first, when he had been certain they'd find her quickly, he'd come to water her plants, and to make sure everything was in order for her return.

When their search became difficult, with one frustrating dead-end after another, he'd come seeking her strength. He'd sit by the windows and imagine her next to him, bolstering him with advice and her unyielding support.

As the days had turned into months and hope darkened more completely, he'd come with a heart full of grief. It was then, as he immersed himself in what had been her space, that he confronted the truth of his feelings, in their raw and unfiltered form - the mask of duty gone, his defenses depleted.

He'd slept in her room, wrapping himself in her blankets, but there was no comfort in it - it was of a twisted form of self-punishment. Lying in her bed, all he could think was that, by all reasonable estimates, it was no longer hers and would never be again. The blankets and sheets that had surrounded her, warmed, and comforted her as she'd released the burdens of her days into the brief, quiet repose of night, served only to remind him of all that would never be (and everything he had left unsaid). He'd picture her, swathed in the bedding as he was, the cool sheets contrasting against her warm skin, her body small and vulnerable and real. The captain replaced by the woman in a manner he had seen precious few times. And now gone; all gone - _so utterly absent from his world._

And so went his nights in those dark weeks - he in her quarters, in her bed, torturing himself with his thoughts, existing within his anger and despair. Broken bits of nightmare-laden sleep mixing with hot, wakeful tears and rage.

Today, he came to pack her things - clothes, keepsakes, treasured books. Objects he hadn't been able to bring himself to disturb before he would gently gather and carry with him on his journey to find their owner. A fool's errand, perhaps, but it didn't matter - he had to go.

He stood in the living space and thought about the many occasions they'd spent here, between these walls. It had been a retreat, of sorts - a place where they wouldn't be disturbed. Where they could talk ship's business, speak freely and candidly about the crew. And where they could enjoy the warmth of each other's company, away from the prying eyes of their subordinates - not on duty, not on display, not having to _be_ anything in particular. Wine and food and laughter; their deepening friendship and everything beneath it. Shared, knowing glances. Stolen moments, touches that lurked ever-so-close to the invisible line. While maddening at times, for all their connection begged to be, their closeness brought comfort and reassurance in times dark and light. He hadn't fully appreciated - _before_ \- how much better they were as a team. What an unlikely outcome, considering how it all began - and now...

He forced his attention back to the matter at hand, decided he'd start with her clothing. He found her luggage, then went to work sorting and packing her garments. He grabbed a uniform, thinking she might want it, and the rest, he packed off-duty clothes - her favorites that he'd seen often, and some items from the bottom of her drawers that had been long tucked away, unworn since New Earth. He gathered undergarments, her robe, shoes. Clips for her hair, toiletries he imagined she'd enjoy having again. The quilt her mother had made.

He'd no idea what she'd been through over the past months (or if she was even alive - but that thought he buried, his hope of her rescue dominating, propelling him forward, instead); he hoped these familiar items would bring comfort.

He finished his work in the bedroom, grabbed another case, and went to gathering her books and other treasured items. He couldn't take everything, but given that they would likely never be back here, he needed to pack what he could.

He came across many of the gifts he'd given her over the years - birthday presents, objects marking important occasions and anniversaries. Lots of his small creations from New Earth, some of them silly looking to him now, oozing as they did with the naiveté of his younger self _(it hadn't been that long ago, had it?)_. Everything was gathered in a beautiful wooden box - a careful collection marking their time together. He shook his head, a small laugh escaping him as he looked at it all, the objects beautiful and those ridiculous. _Gods, he had loved her for so long._

Scanning the shelves, he packed other mementoes he knew had meaning for her. And then photos - family photos from Earth, and family photos from _Voyager_. He packed them all.

His last task - books. Which he knew he'd have to limit. Searching her collection, he grabbed works by Dante, Goethe, Kant, Eliot, Proust...other classics, and anything that looked particularly old and priceless. By the time he finished, he'd probably gathered another passenger's weight in text, but he knew she'd appreciate it (and thankfully, he could beam the luggage directly to the shuttle). Their suitcases along with the survival gear and rations would make it a bit on the cramped side, but they could always unload things later.

He gathered the cases in one place and took a last look around, checking drawers and shelves to make sure he hadn't left anything important. At last satisfied with the job he'd done, he headed back to his own quarters, where he would wait for evening. He knew his colleagues were allowing him the day, that he would not be expected on the bridge. It pained him more than he allowed himself to admit, the way in which he would leave. But it would be best to part ways without a fuss. _They would understand_. _Eventually..._

He settled in for a meal, eating more heartily than he had in months, the roast he'd replicated warm and welcome to his body.

He was ready.

* * *

 When it was time, Chakotay was relieved to find the shuttle bay empty. Everything loaded, course plotted, _Voyager_ at all-stop - all that remained was his physical departure.

As he neared the hatch, preparing to board after his pre-flight inspection, the interior shuttlebay doors opened suddenly. He jumped at the sound, but at the same time, some part of him had half-expected the intrusion (if Tom hadn't told them, they'd probably noticed the unusual transporter activity, despite his efforts to mask it - this last, he thought not without pride; they were a skilled crew.). He turned to see Tom, B'Elanna, Harry, and Tuvok, entering with purpose.

_They're going to make this hard,_ he thought.

But as much as he was wary of confronting them like this, he had to admit, he was glad to see them once more.

B'Elanna tore into him almost instantly, marching toward him with fury. " _You_ were going to _leave_ without even saying goodbye?! _You_ are an insufferable petaQ, is what you are! After all we've been through!"

"B'Elanna, I..." He didn't have the right words.

She huffed loudly then closed the space between them and wrapped her arms around him in a fierce hug. "Damn it all, Chakotay," she said, her face near his neck. "Damn you!" She squeezed and he thought he might pop. A few more "damn you's" and then her voice softened. "You find her, okay? Find her, and then get the hell back to us. Do you hear me, Chakotay?"

She released him and met his eyes - they were teary but firm. She meant what she'd said, and he suddenly felt _horrible_ that he'd been about to leave without saying goodbye. _He was an awful, insufferable petaQ, indeed._

Tom and Harry said their goodbyes next. Less dramatic than B'Elanna's, and with less cursing in Klingon, but the sadness in their eyes was no less profound.

"I knew you'd regret it if you didn't say goodbye," Tom said. "And I'd regret it if I didn't force you to."

Chakotay shook his head. "You've become a wise man in your years here, Tom Paris. You take care of yourself - and take care of her, too." He looked back at B'Elanna.

Tuvok came forward next, and Chakotay braced himself.

"Your decision to continue searching for Captain Janeway is not logical. And I cannot condone your theft of a shuttlecraft or your abandonment of this crew." Chakotay winced - the man knew how to deliver a punch. "However, while your actions are irrational, ill-advised, and motivated by your personal feelings, I find I cannot stop you. More to the point, I find I do not _want_ to stop you. Instead, I wish you a safe journey, and success on your mission."

He handed Chakotay a PADD. " _Voyager_ will be stopping at an M-class planet in the Belkar system. Mr. Nellix has informed us we will find supplies and respite for the crew on the fourth planet. Our route and timetable are outlined. If you should complete your mission in time, please rendezvous with us."

Tuvok closed with the familiar Vulcan farewell, and Chakotay stared at the PADD, stunned. Belkar meant veering off their route. It wasn't entirely unusual for such an action when a friendly, bountiful planet presented itself, but he knew this wasn't a vital detour.

At that moment, Seven and the Doctor entered the shuttlebay. They drew near the gathering, and he looked over at them to find Seven regarding him, in that way of hers. He hadn't the slightest guess what she was thinking. The doctor spoke immediately.

"I'm glad we arrived in time to see you off." He was carrying a medical case, which he promptly handed to Chakotay. "I've taken the liberty of gathering some extra medical supplies, beyond what is in the standard shuttle kit. In case you need it."

Chakotay accepted the case and nodded. "Thank you. I appreciate it."

Seven found her voice suddenly and stepped forward. "I wish you a successful journey." She tilted her head and paused, lost for a moment in her own head. "I hope you and the Captain will be able to return to us."

He nodded in acknowledgement and attempted to swallow the lump in his throat. He looked at them - they who were his closest friends, who had weathered so much alongside him - and felt overwhelmed.

"Thank you. All of you," he said finally.

With that, he entered the shuttle, closed its door, and initiated the pre-launch sequence. He was heading for Koldrea space, and the last person he knew to have seen Kathryn alive. From there, he would travel on a hope and a prayer, with the blessings of his Voyager family and a heart full of love propelling him forward.


	4. Chapter 4

_A warmer time..._ ****

The NaPali Coast was everything Tom Paris remembered. He'd seen it by boat, by air, and on an exceptionally memorable hike along the Kalalau Trail. Truly one of the most beautiful places on the plant Earth, the island of Kauai had remained for centuries underdeveloped and near-perfect. The rugged NaPali range boasted every shade of green in its lush expanse of vegetation, splayed across towering earth and rock of deep reds and browns. The turquoise-blue Pacific Ocean was a smooth blanket running up to NaPali's base, where the water broke white as it pushed onto the sand beaches and crashed against rock.

The island where Tom Paris stood offered a sweeping panorama of the entire northwestern coast of Kauai - NaPali in all its glory.

_Not bad. Not bad at all._

"Computer, increase breeze to eight knots."

A gentle breeze drew over the island and Tom smiled. _It was almost perfect._

It was a made-up island, one he'd invented after concluding they should view NaPali from solid ground. Initially, he'd planned to re-create a cruise along the coast, but then he thought, they did enough _sailing_ (of a kind, anyway) _._ _Let them be land-bound for this celebration._ There being no real island right off of Kauai's northwestern coast, he'd simply had the computer create one, and then added in elements from other Hawaiian holodeck programs. An intimate resort, with a beach-side bar. Lounge chairs - lots of them - and towering palm trees, bent in favor of the tradewinds. Sun - plenty of sun - and gentle waves. Hawaiian birds, their sound mixing with the pulsing melody of the ocean. It was quite spectacular, and he was rather pleased with himself for the finer details he'd attended to.

"Computer, add Hawaiian band, circa 1950s Earth. Hapa-haole style."

Five musicians appeared on the deck by the bar, steel guitars, ukeleles, and other genre instruments at the ready. Soft and slow at first, the music radiated beach-side relaxation...

"Chakotay to Pais," the comm line cut in abruptly.

"Computer, freeze music," he called, then tapped his combadge. "Go ahead, Commander."

"How's it coming down there?"

"Almost finished. And the food is on the way. We're on schedule to start at 1900 hours." He paused, then, thinking on the party's purpose, inquired, "does she suspect anything?"

"Not a thing. See you around 1900. Chakotay out."

_It was going to be a great night._

Tom added in the bartenders, waiters, and hosts, and started the band back up. He double-checked the time cycle he'd programmed - three hours of warm, tropical daylight followed by the perfect Pacific Ocean sunset. Then, tiki torches and hanging lanterns to light their evening revelry, which he hoped would continue well into the night.

* * *

 

The party was in full swing at 1900, as promised. All that was missing was the guest of honor.

Kathryn Janeway had just collapsed into her recliner, settling back with an exhausted sigh - the day's events having left her spent - when the chime sounded at her door. She winced at the intrusion, and then (reluctantly) called for the doors to open.

It was Chakotay who entered. She must have shot him a concerned look as she sat up, fearing, as she did, that their day was not, in fact, over, because he put one hand up, halting her questions, and spoke quickly - "Not here on ship's business."

She relaxed the part of herself that had been instinctively preparing, but then, taking in his demeanor, a different kind of tension came to her awareness. It was not _entirely_ unwelcome. He was smiling at her in what she decided was a rather boyish way - like he had a secret he could no longer contain. She raised an eyebrow in his direction, silently calling for him to spill it.

"Did you think I forgot?" He took a couple of strides in her direction, and presented her with a small box he'd evidently had behind his back. It was wrapped in silver with a silky blue bow on top. "Happy Birthday, Kathryn."

She smiled up at him before taking the box in her hands and regarding it. She _had_ actually imagined he'd forgotten, so well had he managed to keep his secret all day. Right up until he walked in her quarters with that silly grin of his, anyway.

"Chakotay...thank you." She fingered the small package, suddenly nervous about opening it. Unwilling to explore that feeling to its origins, she opted instead for conversation. "It's kind of you to remember. It was a long day - _I_ almost forgot about my birthday."

He crossed to the couch and sat down on the side closest to her chair. Still grinning.

She turned to him and steered the conversation away from birthdays and gifts. "Everything wrap up okay on the bridge?"

He nodded, but didn't bite. "Well, aren't you going to open it?"

She shot him a lopsided smile. "If you insist."

He just looked at her, the answer obvious.

Her smile reached her eyes (his mood was infectious), to which his grin expanded even more (if that was even possible). She obliged him and tore at the wrapping paper - but gently, as if she was planning to reuse it.

Inside the box was a silver timepiece on a long chain - smooth and ancient. And mechanical. It ticked in her hands.

"Chakotay, it's beautiful," she said, tracing a finger along the cool metal resting in her palm.

"It's a replica of the chronometer worn by Captain Cray of the British Navy, from Earth's Nineteenth century. His ship was hit by a typhoon in the Pacific. Everyone back in England thought they were killed, but eight months later Cray sailed his ship into London harbor. There wasn't much left of it - a few planks, half a sail - but he got his crew home."

Her eyes welled as she took in the full meaning of the gift, and she shook her head. "It's beautiful. I love it."

Touched, she moved to sit beside him on the couch. "How is it that you always know exactly how to lift my spirits?"

He reddened ever-so-slightly and then shrugged. "It's just one of my many talents," he deadpanned.

She leaned over and hugged him - it was a friendly gesture, he recognized, but he couldn't completely subdue his body's awareness at her sudden nearness. Luckily _(or the opposite)_ , she didn't linger. She released him and sat back on the couch, then opened her palm and stared down at the timepiece again. The ticking it made was oddly soothing.

They sat in silence for a moment, then she looked back at him. "I'd planned to spend a quiet evening by myself, reading or otherwise doing not-much, but would you like to join me for dinner?"

He realized suddenly that they couldn't linger, be that as it might have been his inclination at the moment. "Actually, I have something else in mind." He watched her face as she reacted to this, one eyebrow rising in question. He smiled mischievously and rose from the couch, headed for the door. Turning back suddenly, he added, "dress for summer. I'll be back in about 10 minutes."

"And where might we be going?"

"You'll see." He shot her a playful smile, and she felt a warm giddiness wash over her. It was not a feeling she typically allowed herself to indulge, but for whatever reason, she didn't push it away.

He exited her quarters, leaving her alone with his gift and her thoughts, and the task of attiring herself for... _summer_. That her stomach tightened as she imagined what, exactly, he might be planning, was not lost on her - and it only got worse as her mind went to work on the possibilities.

Moments later, she exhaled sharply and rose from the couch, shaking herself free from her thoughts. It reminded her of the very reasons she did not - could not - indulge in such things, real or otherwise, on _Voyager._

_Dress for summer..._

She placed the timepiece on her desk and went in search of an appropriate outfit.

She realized Chakotay hadn't provided her with nearly enough information to make a proper choice, and she immediately called him over the comm.

" _Commander_ ," she said, mocking emphasis on his rank, "when you say 'dress for summer', what are we talking, activity-wise?"

The line was silent for a moment, and then he shocked her by outright suggesting something specific. "I remember a dress. Strapless, floral pattern. Something like that would work."

She knew the one, and allowed herself to consider _very briefly_ what it meant that _he_ remembered it. Then she dug out the dress and obliged his suggestion.

Thankfully, it still fit, but, glancing in the mirror, she felt slightly ridiculous at the skimpy cut and the tropical pattern on the fabric. She stared at her reflection, brow knit, weighing other options against the small thrill of attiring herself as her (rather handsome and thoughtful) First Officer had suggested - but then she suddenly came up with an idea. She dashed over to her closet and rummaged for the lovely crochet wrap her sister had given her years ago - it was light and lacy, the color of sand, and would add a bit of elegance to the otherwise silly dress. Along with the warp, she found her favorite summer hat and some sandals, and happily added them to the ensemble. She took in her appearance once more, much improved, and decided it would do.

She was brushing her hair when Chakotay rang the door chime. She called for entry from the bedroom.

"Give me just a second," she projected as she heard the door open.

Moments later, she emerged from the bedroom to find him standing in the middle of the living room, arms behind his back, waiting patiently. He was wearing a colorful Hawaiian shirt and shorts, and, well, he looked rather adorable, she could not help but admit to herself.

"So I take it we're going skiing," she said, smiling.

"Precisely," he said, then offered his arm. "Shall we?"

She linked her arm around his, and they were off.

* * *

 

Although she'd never admit it, Kathryn was flush with nervous energy. It had started as a low _hum_ , quietly invading her system when Chakotay showed up with her birthday present, and it now peaked acutely as they stood outside of holodeck 2.

She was captain of a starship - she'd faced the Borg and worse, and _nervous_ was not typically part of her constitution, inside or out. But she felt a lot of _anomalous_ things where Chakotay was concerned - including more than a few weighty, unsettled feelings she'd forced buried in their years together - and whatever was behind the holodeck doors had something to do with her, with him, and...with _summer_...and it had her keyed up in a way that was, she decided, rather intolerable.

_No - that was the wrong word._ The feelings themselves weren't exactly _intolerable..._

The circumstances surrounding them, on the other hand...

She glanced at Chakotay, who was regarding her - perhaps preparing to measure her reaction to... _whatever_ they were about to encounter. He laughed lightly as he met her eyes, which were lit with hesitation, and put a reassuring hand on her back. "Ready?"

She wasn't, but she nodded.

He keyed open the doors, and a rush of warm air greeted them. Lush vegetation filled the view from the hallway, obsecuring anything beyond, but Kathryn could hear voices - sounded like quite a few people, in fact.

"Come on," Chakotay said, and he eagerly guided her inside.

She followed him down a short, sandy path, tall palms and thick, ambrosial vegetation surrounding them, and it wasn't long before Kathryn could hear ocean waves, pulsing melodically against an unseen shoreline. She was suddenly aware of sunlight, streaming down through the trees and lighting patches of the sparkling sand that lined the trail. She took in a deep breath - gorgeous, refreshing, tropical air - and felt her tension easing on the exhale. Wherever they were, it was lovely - and, judging by the voices, which were growing louder as they walked, they'd not be spending the evening alone. Relief mixed with a _tinge_ of disappointment, but mostly she was just captivated by the surroundings, which beckoned her to temporarily forget they were aboard a starship, stranded in the Delta Quadrant...

"Is this someplace on Earth?" She stopped walking for a moment, took in another breath of fresh air.

Chakotay turned to look at her - smiled as he caught site of her obviously-much-more-relaxed demeanor - and nodded. "It's one of the Hawaiian islands. Well - actually, _this_ island Tom created, but the vista of the evening - which you'll see shortly - is Kauai, the oldest of the main islands."

"Have you been?"

"No, actually. You?"

She nodded and they started walking again. "I have, yes. But it's been a long time."

He drew an arm around her and smiled. "I hope you aren't _too_ mad at me for this..."

She laughed. By now she knew it had to be a birthday celebration they were heading for - _her_ birthday celebration no less - and while she wouldn't normally abide such a fuss surrounding the day, the warm, lush environment was just so _inviting_...

"I will _probably_ forgive you," she joked easily. "But you'd better watch out, when your birthday rolls around."

He laughed and dropped his arm - she instantly missed the contact, but knew they must be getting close.

Soon the trail opened up and Chakotay was leading her up a set of wooden stairs, which ended at a large deck at what looked like a beach-side resort...

The deck was a lively mess of crewmembers (all happily out of uniform, from what she could see), interspersed with holographic musicians and waiters. Food and drink were most definitely flowing, and as soon as she entered the scene, glasses went up, and a hearty chorus of _Surprise!_ and _Happy Birthday!_ rang out.

She smiled warmly, feeling more than a little overwhelmed at the scope of the party. They'd celebrated her birthday before, but never quite on this scale, or with this many people. She looked back at Chakotay, hoping she could avoid a speech...

Luckily, the band chose that moment to take up a lively, Pacific-island tune, and the next thing she knew, they were immersed in the party, greeting attendees and admiring the decor - and the view. Neellix met her with a hug and a tall pink beverage, fruit and umbrella on top, which he nearly spilled all over Chakotay in his enthusiasm.

Tom and B'Elanna followed closely behind, he clearly already a couple of drinks in.

"You've outdone yourself this time, Tom," Kathryn said, correctly guessing that he'd had a big hand in designing the program.

He beamed. "I had a lot of help. You seemed to like our last 'Hawaiian experience' so much, I thought we'd do something similar, only this time, on a grander scale, for a grand occasion." He gestured to the long stretch of white sandy beach, and the NaPali Coast in the distance.

"It's truly beautiful. Thank you." She shook her head, feeling her words inadequate.

'Now, Captain, we want you to relax and have fun, so please - grab some food and enjoy!" Tom gestured to the bar.

She realized he was essentially waving off the rest of what had become a receiving line. She was silently grateful, welcoming the opportunity to interact with them in a more casual fashion, instead of going down the line like she was at a wedding.

(Tom had, in fact, instructed everyone "not to smother her.")

She made her way to the food, Chakotay in tow, and promptly filled a plate with the offerings. Balancing it on one hand, she tipped back the rest of her drink with the other. At which point a man she didn't recognize approached with a tray of colorful concoctions and offered her another. Dark-haired, dark-skinned, and quite attractive, the holographic waiter smiled rather suggestively as she selected a beverage - she felt Chakotay's amused stare as she _giggled_ (for that first drink had already relaxed her enough for such behavior) and thanked him. The man, whom she realized suddenly was rather scantily-clad, bowed ever-so-slightly and said, _"At your service."_

She turned to look at Chakotay, and then lost it at his expression - curious and amused (yet ever-so-slightly territorial, if she wasn't mistaken).

"The beach," she said, pointing and still laughing. "I'm going to sit by the water." She was giving him an "out", in case he wanted to mingle instead of lingering by her side, but he just smiled and trailed her as she headed for the water, answering her unspoken question.

From the resort deck, the vista was interrupted by vegetation, but on the beach, the NaPali Coast filled the landscape completely.

Kathryn sat down on the sand, put her food aside and leaned back on her elbows. The glorious Pacific and the old, towering volcanic island of Kauai were a breathtaking sight.

It wasn't long before the party's center of mass shifted, as other crewmembers filtered down to the beach. Soon, Kathryn was surrounded by some of her closest colleagues, who happily sprawled out on the sand near her, gathering together in what looked rather like a picnic.

The mood was light and relaxed - how could it not be in such a place, the hapa-haole music mixing with the sound of the waves and the scattered laughter and merriment of partygoers.

The holographic waiters refreshed their food and drinks often - usually it was "Kathryn's waiter" who took care of them.

"I feel like we should ask him to join us," she said, nudging Chakotay as he approached them with another of his "deliveries". As per his usual, he favored Kathryn with extra attention, his eyes lingering on her even as he served the others drinks. She watched him as he headed back to the bar, then turned to Tom.

"Tom Paris, did you program me a boyfriend for my birthday?"

He laughed heartily. "Not specifically. But, I could make a few adjustments..."

"Something tells me no _adjustments_ would be required," Chkotay retorted with a smirk - which drew Kathryn's elbow to his side.

"It _is_ my birthday," she teased.

Later, when the sun began to set, the entire party spilled out onto the beach to watch. The sun's path through the sky would have it sinking below the horizon over the ocean while the changing rays illuminated Kauai. Kathryn raised her glass in Tom's direction - he had truly attended to every detail.

The crowd quieted as the sun dipped close to the ocean, sending streaks of orange, red, yellow, and pink across the water. And sure enough, NaPali began to glow, its lush colors in spotlight as the sky behind it grew darker.

Entranced and completely relaxed, Kathryn leaned against Chakotay, who was sitting comfortably beside her. If they hadn't all been under the island's gentle spell - and lightened by their many drinks - the gesture might have drawn some interested glances. As it was, if the others had even noticed, it simply blended in with their carefree mood.

"It's _beautiful_...," she declared, dreamily.

Chakotay pulled her close and kissed the top of her head. _"Happy Birthday, Kathryn."_

They sat like that as the last of the day's light faded, watching the changing hues, highlights, and shadows as the sun fell away.

The party transitioned into night mode as the sky turned dark, with lanterns and torches lit, and louder music that was fit for dancing.

Hours later, Kathryn found herself tucked into her bed, the alcohol having dulled her senses and relaxed her body into a blissful state of drowsiness. She couldn't precisely recall how she'd ended up here, but in her vague memory of events she remembered Chakotay tending to her, settling her in after the party had ended. Her breath caught in her chest, panicked, as she suddenly wondered if he was still here, and what, exactly, had transpired. She called out for him, but there was only silence.

Filled with equal parts relief and disappointment, she drew the blankets tighter and allowed the drowsiness to pull her back into sleep, with all cares postponed until morning.

* * *

 

Early morning on the bridge was bright, and louder than Kathryn had anticipated, but of course her senses were reeling _just a bit_ from the previous night's festivities and she was, therefore, not the best judge of the character of...well, anything, really.

She'd managed to make it to her shift on time, with every bit of her usual polished exterior, but her head throbbed with every sound above a whisper and the minute she entered _Voyager's_ command center, she was eager for the retreat of her ready room.

But, first things first - and as she assumed the center seat, the glances and knowing smiles from the bridge crew not lost upon her, she realized that, despite her aches and exhaustion, the glow of last night's festivities had not completely left her. In fact, she felt quite buoyed by all that had taken place.

There was one nagging issue that tugged at her sense of wellbeing, and as she turned her head and met the gentle smile of her First Officer, something in her braced for impact - to her ego or some other presently delicate part of herself.

_"Commander,"_ she said in acknowledgment, while an image of him helping her intoxicated self into her bed flashed unbidden in her mind. He had not "loved her and left her," she knew - his absence from her quarters when she woke last night was enough indication that they did not trample over any lines, so-to-speak - but it was quite possible she had rather thrown herself at him sometime between their exit from the party and his departure from her room, and she felt a nervous pang in her stomach and she considered what kind of impression she might have left.

"Good morning," he said, and as she regarded him and his simple words, she could discern no sign that anything exceptionally _awkward_ had transpired between them.

She took in a breath before hazarding mention of the previous night. "Thank you," she said - and her tone was lowered, meant for him only, "for making sure I got 'home' okay last night."

He smiled warmly and easily, and it relaxed her instantly. "It was my pleasure, Kathryn. I hope you enjoyed your birthday."

She shook her head lightly - of course that was his concern this morning. "It was _lovely,_ Chakotay - I had a wonderful time. It was so thoughtful, of all of you."

"I'm amazed that we pulled it off. It was almost a month of scheming and planning that we somehow managed to keep from you."

It touched her rather deeply, that they had put so much effort into her birthday party. And the result, that most of the crew had gotten a rare night of fun and celebration, brought a happy kind of relief she'd forgotten meant so much.

"You know, we really should celebrate more often - the special occasions," she said, glancing now at the starfield on the forward viewscreen, her right hand raised in front of her. "Out here, we only really have each other."

He laughed, and she turned back to look at him, somewhat confused by his reaction to her profound thoughts, and she must have given him a look, because he held up a hand. "Yesterday, I feared you'd never forgive me for orchestrating such a _fuss_ for your birthday. That today you're sitting here telling me it should happen more often...well, let's just say, that's much more than I was hoping for."

She softened and shrugged, her smile returning. "I'm glad I could surprise you, too."

His eyes were bright as they met hers, and she felt thankful in that moment that they were here together, in the same place. Something passed between them - recognition, a shared sense of gratitude and affection, and, just beneath it, what felt to her like a tangible, blossoming sense of hope.

A small beeping on his side console drew him away from their locked eyes, alerting him that all departments had reported in. He glanced over the status reports, and happily reported all systems nominal. "Let's hope it's the order of the day," he added.

She nodded in agreement, then sat up straight in her chair and placed both hands on the arm rests. "If you don't mind, Commander - I could really use some coffee."

He smiled, having predicted this next move of hers even before she arrived on the bridge.

She rose and retreated for her ready room. He watched her exit, and as soon as the doors hissed shut behind her, Tom Paris turned in his seat at the helm.

"I'd call that a success," he said, beaming.


	5. Chapter 5

The quiet of the day ended abruptly, with Ensign Kim's voice cutting into the calm, muted hum of the bridge. ****

"Commander, I'm picking up what appears to be a distress call."

"On screen" Chakotay said automatically, then, over the comm, "Captain to the bridge."

"Audio only, Commander."

"Let's hear it, then."

A burst of static came through, then silence. Chakotay looked back at Harry Kim - his hands were flying over the panels at his station as he worked to clear up the transmission. He acknowledged the Commander's unspoken request with a slight nod that said, _I'm on it._

Kathryn appeared on the bridge a moment later and she called for an update before taking her chair.

"Distress call, Captain," Chakotay said as he watched her assume the center seat, her posture all business. It was not lost on him, the immediate sense of relief he felt, knowing they would tackle this _whatever-it-is_ together. "We're trying to clean it up."

Kathryn nodded, then turned to her First Officer with a barely detectable sigh. "Well, we _almost_ made it through the day."

"Captain, the signal is emanating from a planetary body approximately 1.5 light-years away," Tuvok announced. "Long-range sensors indicate it is _class P,_ with eighty-five percent of the surface covered in water-ice. Nitrogen/oxygen atmosphere. It orbits an M0V-class star, along with five other planetary bodies."

"I almost have the audio, Captain," Harry Kim reported, not without pride.

There was an abrupt change in the signal and after a moment of loud static, a voice broke through. Patchy at first, then clearer and stronger.

"...to any...Denix...Koldera...down..."

More of the message came through each time it looped, and eventually the details became clear. An unknown number of inhabitants on a planet called _Koldera Minor_ were in need of rescue and medical assistance, having suffered some kind of natural disaster.

"Mr. Paris, set a course, maximum warp," Kathryn ordered without hesitation. "Chakotay, alert sickbay."

_Voyager's_ engines pulsed as Tom changed course and increased warp. "At current speed, we will reach the planet in approximately six-and-a-half hours," he reported from the helm.

Kathryn nodded to herself, then stood and addressed the bridge. "I want the relief shift in here for the next six hours. We'll return after that. Sooner if anything changes." She turned to Chakotay - he was already on top of it, working on the early shift change and punching notes into the log. After a moment, he opened a ship-wide comm channel, and called the next shift in for duty.

Kathryn stood for a moment longer and scanned the room, then sat back down in the center seat. It would only take a few minutes for the relief crew to arrive, and then she thought she would use the next few hours to catch up on some busywork - reports and the other "paperwork" that always seemed to litter her desk.

Chakotay regarded her for a moment. Six hours of peace (hopefully) before they had to dive in to this next crisis, but he knew she would neither relax nor stop working in this brief respite.

"How about an early dinner?" he said, determined to force her to take a bit of downtime. After all, who knew what the evening would hold, or how many more hours they'd be putting in.

She considered his offer for a moment, and after a brief battle in her head over the mental "to-do" list she'd just composed, she nodded in his direction. "Alright. Dinner."

* * *

 

Kathryn appeared outside of Chakotay's quarters about an hour-and-a-half after they left the bridge - there were _just a few_ things she had to attend to before she took any off-duty time - and by then, dinner was already waiting.

"I was getting ready to invent an emergency, just to tear you away," he said, smiling as he gestured to invite her in.

"Sorry...had to tend to a couple of things," she said, gesturing with one hand up in the direction of the bridge (confirming that her delay was indeed work-related). "But I'm here now." She made her way to the dining area, took in the spread he'd prepared and felt a pang of guilt. "It looks wonderful, Chakotay."

She was still running a mile a minute, but as she sat down, took in a deep breath, and allowed some of her cares to settle into a resting state, she felt herself relaxing, mentally and physically.

He sat down across from her and filled their glasses with water.

"Salad?"

"Please."

* * *

 

The meal was long and leisurely and delicious.

Still seated at the dining table, Kathryn leaned back in her chair and rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers. As he cleared their plates, she thought about how it was nearly time to return to duty. Her head throbbed _just a bit_ at the thought, and she wondered briefly if she would have been better off spending this lull working in her ready room, instead of relaxing thoroughly and misleading her body into thinking she was done for the day.

Her First Officer had been right, though - a real dinner and some "down time" was the better option. Had she holed up in her ready room with her pile of work, she'd no-doubt have a _real_ headache by now.

She glanced over at him - he was standing in front of the replicator, recycling the rest of their dishes - and couldn't help the small smile that spread across her face.

Once again, she was reminded of how thoughtful Chakotay was, and what a central part of her life he had become. She smiled because it was all so unlikely - the two of them, here, like this - but now she couldn't imagine it any other way. As _Voyager's_ command duo, they were a team better and stronger than she had ever hoped or thought possible.

As Chakotay returned to the table with two cups of steaming black coffee, Kathryn felt grateful that circumstances, as trying as they were at times, had brought them together.

He gestured to the living area across the room, and Kathryn rose, stretched, and moved with him to sit on the couch. He handed her a cup and then sat a couple of feet away, stretching his legs out and leaning back contentedly.

Kathryn inhaled deeply the warm, rich aroma of her coffee - too hot to drink - and likewise sat back with a slow exhale.

"Do you think anyone will notice if we don't show up for duty?"

He laughed. "Perhaps we can set up a holo-emitter. Project holograms of ourselves."

"Oh, I like it. We must see to it immediately," she said, her laughter mixing with his as she pictured said holograms giving orders on the bridge.

Then, turning serious suddenly and leaning slightly in his direction, "You know, I do often think about how each side mission - be it to explore some new phenomenon, or to render aid - increases the length of our journey home."

He turned to look at her, somewhat surprised at the admission - not its contents, exactly, but that she'd chosen to articulate it.

"Don't get me wrong," she said quickly to his curious expression. "We're Starfleet officers, and this is what we do. Holding to our principles...it's even more important for us, stranded here...distant from all that grounds and guides us. And I won't waver from that."

She sipped at her coffee and then shifted, drawing one leg up and under her and turning so that she could face him more directly.

"Obviously, we need supplies. To replenish our energy stores. But sometimes, I wonder if we don't owe it to this crew, to take the straight track home - diversions, exploration...rescue missions be damned."

Chakotay regarded her for a moment. "That's maybe five percent of you talking. The other ninety-five percent...well, she's quite proud of all we've discovered and accomplished scientifically...the many new species we've successfully interacted with...those we've helped. That we've continued a Starfleet mission, even out here, alone in the Delta Quadrant. And," he paused, considering the best way to frame his thoughts. "The exploring, the science, the rescue missions...you - _we_ \- are ensuring that _Voyager_ has a meaningful and important existence regardless of her physical location. Sure, we could fly straight and get home faster, but we're still looking at decades. In the interim, we have to live our lives - we have to fill our days with meaning."

She stared at him with a mixture of gratitude and affection. She could tell he wasn't done sharing his thoughts, so she waited. Took another sip of her coffee.

They sat in silence for a moment before he continued, hoping as he did that his words wouldn't be too heavy for the moment. "While we are of course driven in our mission to get this ship home, we can't completely sacrifice the present - we can't...write off today in the name of a future that may not arrive in our lifetimes, or...at all."

It was something they didn't normally talk about, and that she tended to avoid even thinking about - _not_ getting home. The intensity of emotions there - the guilt, the sadness, the sharp, stinging sense of responsibility for having made the decision that irrevocably altered the lives of the 150 souls under her command - it was a bit too much to dwell on. Too much to hold fully in her heart and mind while still driving this ship forward with purpose.

He looked at her, reading quite accurately her thoughts as they threatened to radiate into the darker parts of her mind, and reached for her free hand. "And the other side of it, of course, is that, in all our exploring, who knows when we might find the fast train home? There could be a technology, a species out there, who could help us get there more quickly than we can imagine."

She squeezed his hand, the melancholy that had threatened lifting at his words. It wasn't that she needed him to "talk her out of" those difficult thoughts - it was that she needed to know he was with her. That they were in this together.

"You know, you've said that to me before - about _the_ _present._ " She took a careful sip of her coffee, her other hand still wrapped with his.

"I remember," he said. "Feels like a lifetime ago now."

And it did feel that way, but what caught Chakotay a bit off-guard was how easily he could still conjure that exact moment, and many others from their days planetside. Not just the words, the conversations, but the sensations - the warmth of the soil in the garden, the softness of the grass, the smell of the air, fresh with earth and rain... The contentment that had filled his being in a way he'd not been able to replicate since.

"I'm glad that you're here, to remind me that _right now_ is really all we have," she said, looking at him with eyes he couldn't quite read. And then, leaning toward him, her voice soft and low - "we have to make the most of it."

He smiled, agreeing with her assessment, but also wondering, in some small part of himself he normally kept tucked away (much as he usually did those memories of New Earth), if there was something more behind her words.

Although their relationship had settled into a deep and abiding _friendship_ , there was, and had always been, an attraction between them. Most of the time it was comfortably quiescent, but every now and again (more often than either of them would admit), it was simply too _present_ , too real, to ignore completely.

It was forbidden territory, though, given their positions, and Chakotay knew it was an issue he could not - and would not - press. She had made clear her boundaries, some time ago, and so, it would be up to her, to initiate a change.

Of course, that often left Chakotay, at moments odd and not, trying to discern whether such a change was taking place. Kathryn Janeway was a complex woman, and though he knew and understood her better than anyone on the ship (and arguably, anyone back home), she was still capable of surprising him, or catching him off-guard with a shift in mood.

In more "traditional" situations, he'd assume her words, her tone - the depths revealed in her bright eyes just moments ago - an invitation. But this was her, and this was him; they were _here_ , and ultimately, he knew better. He'd leaned long ago not to let his hopes rise, and instead, to take comfort in the relationship they _were_ able to have - the friendship that had sustained them both through times thick and thin.

Even so, he knew that if she should ever "open that door", he would happily walk through. Though for the most part he had properly stowed his deeper love for his commanding officer, those feelings were still a part of him.

He was lost with that thought when she started laughing suddenly. She drew her hand away from his and brought it up to join the other on her cup. She glanced down at the dark liquid with mock inquisition, and then back at him. "Honestly, Chakotay - what did you put in this coffee? I've gone all maudlin."

He laughed, the moment passing - as it always did. He swallowed the small pinch of disappointment that crept into his breath, and moved forward - away from those feelings - as he always did.

"Can I get you a refill? I'm going to have tea now, but...coffee for you?"

"Thanks, that would be lovely." She handed him her cup, and moments later he returned with a fresh one.

"Almost time to get back," she said, watching him retake his seat. "But, we have a little more time yet, before we turn our attention to the people of _Koldera Minor."_

The shared a companionable silence, the warm aroma of her coffee mingling with the scent of his tea, their thoughts drifting likewise.

She regarded him for a moment before breaking the quiet. "Thank you, again, Chakotay, for the lovely party last night."

"I'm just glad you enjoyed it, and that we're still speaking to each other," he said, grinning.

They reminisced for a bit, over memorable moments from last night with their friends and crewmates...talked about when the next party might be.

Kathryn had asked the computer to alert them 45 minutes before it was time to return to the bridge, so they'd have adequate time to transition from their relaxed evening, back to duty, and when the alert came, she began to switch gears almost immediately.

She put her coffee cup aside and rose from the couch. "Thank you for the wonderful dinner and company," she said as she straightened out her uniform top and smoothed her pants. "I'm going to swing by my quarters before going to the bridge. I'll see you up there, okay?"

She made her way toward the door, and he rose to see her out. "Koldera Minor awaits us," he said as the doors hissed open in front of them.

"And may they indeed benefit from _Voyager's_ continued _meaningful_ existence here in the Delta Quadrant," she said sincerely before exiting into the corridor.

"See you up there," he called after her.


	6. Chapter 6

_Less than forty-eight hours later, everything completely and unexpectedly changed..._

The bridge was silent, bodies still, as the crew waited for the pale blue man on the forward viewscreen to deliver the information they sought.

When he spoke, it was with a shrug. _"It seems they have traveled off-world. I don't know anything more."_

Chakotay stood stiffly - tension, anger, filling his body like molten lead. He was about as far forward on the bridge as he could be without actually overtaking the front stations, and for a moment, it looked as if he might jump right through the screen, strangle the owner of the too-calm, too-casual voice that had just told him their Captain's gone as if it's barely newsworthy. Chakotay's hands were in fists at his sides - the muscles of his arms drawn tightly, almost painfully. When he spoke, it was in a voice, a tone, no one on the bridge had heard before, and even though Tom Paris shared in every sentiment, every bit of anger, he couldn't help his body's instinctive girding. Chakotay was so near the helm, Tom could feel his heat.

_"That's not good enough!"_ Chakotay shot at the screen. "You _will_ get us answers, Minister. I don't care what it takes! You will expend _every resource,_ _every effort,_ to locate and return our Captain safely. Anything less, and there will be a _very_ high price to pay!"

It wasn't proper "Starfleet etiquette" to issue such a threat, but Chakotay didn't care. The incompetent fool before him - the so-called leader of this Gods-forsaken world - was not nearly as stressed or apologetic as he should be, given the circumstances, and that was simply unacceptable. The way Chakotay saw it, he could blow the entire settlement off the map with a few photon torpedoes, and if this man needed a reminder of the firepower in orbit around his tiny world in order to treat the situation appropriately, then so be it.

"Commander," Minister Denixsen stuttered, his blue-tinted skin paling even more in what Chakotay hoped was a physical manifestation of fear, "I simply do not know where they are. As I said, it seems they have left the planet. More than likely, your Captain agreed to go along, and -"

_"She did not_ \- she _would not_ have done so without informing us! That is simply fact!"

"We are, as you know, still recovering from the quakes. We are dealing with injured...our resources are stretched. We -"

_"We_ are treating the majority of your injured! I don't care what it takes, Minister - you will get us answers, or we will get them by force!" Then, without turning, staring daggers into the viewscreen - "Tuvok, prepare additional away teams! As many crewmen as we can spare, fully armed. Get to the bottom of this!"

Chakotay gestured sharply with one hand at his throat, and Harry Kim cut the transmission, just as Minister Denixsen was about to speak again.

"Paris, you have the bridge," Chakotay said, spinning on his heel. "I'm going with the away teams. I want regular status updates, and contact me immediately if there's any new information."

"Aye, sir," Tom said automatically. He moved to take the center chair, barely glimpsing the back of Chakotay as he vanished into turbolift.

All Tom could think - dizzily, as the events of the past two days spun in a blur in his head - was that _this should have been a routine rescue mission..._

He stared at the icy planet, "spinning" below them as _Voyager_ orbited. Not twelve hours ago, he'd been looking forward to visiting Koldera Minor's extensive entertainment complex.

When they'd arrived at the planet, they were met by a very relieved citizenry - _Voyager_ and its crew were more than they could have hoped for in answer to their distress call. Several hundred people had been trapped after a large seismic event, and without transporter technology, the rescue operation had been extremely difficult and labor-intensive for the Kolderans. Once _Voyager_ arrived, and after some quick work by Seven and B'Elanna, enhancing and modifying the transporters, the rescue effort proceeded rapidly and efficiently. Casualties were greatly reduced and treatment rushed to those severely injured.

When the rescue was complete, the Kolderans had invited _Voyager's_ crew to a celebratory dinner, where the Starfleet officers were honored and thanked, and treated more or less as heroes. Upon invitation to stay beyond dinner and avail themselves of the colony's entertainment and spa facilities, the Captain had decided to allow the crew some leave time. The colony had a rather "old west" feel, and she'd been quite taken by the atmosphere.

Once a small, rugged outpost with a transient population, Koldera Minor was today a bustling, long-term exploration and extraction operation. On the frontier of Kolderan space, with a robust population of explorers and entrepreneurs to match, Kolderans now lived, worked, had families, and died on the planet. The citizenry seemed an open, welcoming lot, proud of their vast resources and eager to interact with outsiders. Since the _Voyager_ crew didn't get off-ship very often, it had seemed a win-win situation all around - rescue trapped citizens, enjoy some shore leave.

Now, the Captain was missing, all shore leave ended, and relations with this seemingly friendly world had taken a decided downturn.

There'd been no warning, no signs - nothing Tom could think of that would have indicated a dangerous situation. No reason that the Captain needed a constant escort.

Chakotay had been hesitant to let her explore planetside on her own, of course, but it was reflex in his role as her second rather than any real, perceived danger - so Kathryn's desire for some solo leisure time had won out.

The last time they'd seen her, she was trying out a dice game in the casino, and seemed to be having a fabulous time.

Chakotay had planned to join her later.

Tom stared at the screen as _Voyager_ completed a full orbit.

Nothing on sensors - no other ships in range. And no signal from Kathryn's combadge.

Tom said a silent prayer to no one in particular that somehow, this was all a big misunderstanding, and that the Captain would be found safe and unharmed very, very soon.


	7. Chapter 7

Chakotay stared at the brown jacket, draped over the back of the bar stool - shed, maybe, because she'd decided to play pool. Or because she'd grown accustomed to the colony's cooler temperatures. Even indoors, the Kolderans seemed to prefer a climate more akin to the planet's natural iciness than not.

The jacket looked so ordinary in the dimly lit room - casually placed, waiting its owner's return. The bar was virtually empty, save for a few scattered folks who apparently weren't bothered by the many Starfleet security officers trampling about the compound (or perhaps they enjoyed the drama). Most residents seemed to have retreated to their homes, word of what had happened - and what was happening now - having spread to every corner of the colony in a matter of hours.

He was almost afraid to touch it - hesitated after reaching out. The proprietor glanced over at him from down the bar, eyeing Chakotay's frozen hand with mild curiosity before returning to the mugs he was rinsing.

The jacket had already been documented and logged as evidence - nothing more could be gained from it remaining in the bar.

_The Zenith._ (Or so it roughly translated.)

They'd planned to meet here, in the casino bar, after his duty shift. She'd invited him, told him not to come in uniform - that they'd meet up and each have a "Shar'ne'tol", the local specialty drink, and talk about anything but work. He'd laughed, smiled at her enthusiasm, and at that moment, he'd felt grateful that they'd stumbled upon a situation that was affording her some legitimate down-time.

And of course he'd really been looking forward to spending time together away from their duties - much more so than he'd allowed himself to admit.

Not a _date,_ exactly - but he thought there had been a hint of _something_ in her voice - her smile - that, while he couldn't quite label or define, definitely gave the sense of something _more_ than just another, ordinary evening together. Possibly. _Maybe..._

Truth be told, he hadn't had the slightest clue, her thoughts and intentions, but anticipating the possibilities had sent his pulse and his mood bounding higher than they had in a while.

His fingers brushed the fabric and then gripped. Lifted. He expected to find his gray scarf beneath the jacket, but it wasn't there. He resisted the temptation to hug the jacket to his chest, and instead draped it over his arm.

_"She was talking to a lot of people. It was crowded. She was there, and then she wasn't."_

Chakotay had grilled the proprietor, certain he _had_ to know something. But the interrogation had proven worthless in terms of leads. The best Chakotay could get was a very rough description of a couple of the people Kathryn had talked to when she was at the bar, but the adjectives the barkeeper had used were so generic it was barely useful.

Regardless, Chakotay took everything down. Tuvok and his people had already gathered the same information, but Chakotay was determined to find _something_ they'd overlooked.

He'd go over the passenger manifest documents next, duplicating the security team's efforts again. There was no logical reason to believe he'd uncover something Tuvok had not - and he knew the Vulcan was as driven as he was to secure Kathryn's safe return - but Chakotay had to try. _He had to._

The situation _called_ for all of _Voyager's_ resources deployed - the more people on the problem, the better, and that included Chakotay - but the truth of it was, he simply had to be "hands-on" in this. It would not have done for him to remain on _Voyager,_ running the operation from orbit. Up there, he'd either be creating a large hole in the floor, pacing madly about Kathryn's ready room, or the bridge, or he'd be snapping at every crew member who came in contact with him to discuss or report anything that _didn't_ directly relate to getting Kathryn back. (Probably both.)

He knew that so far, he'd just been retracing Tuvok's steps, but it was _active._ It was _doing something._

And it never hurt, to give a second look.

Chakotay tapped the PADD he carried against his palm. It contained all the information gathered so far, including what the Kolderans has provided on shipping traffic over the last 48 hours.

They were evidently _not_ meticulous record-keepers - which was surprising, considering the vast natural resources bought, sold, and shipped from the planet. A colony based in commerce usually had vast data stores detailing production, transactions, exchanges, and the like. Every ship in and out, recorded. Passengers, cargo - everything logged. But the merchants and the administrators of Koldera Minor were oddly lax about such details. Chakotay wondered how things seemed to run so smoothly - or at all.

_There had to be something more to the picture_ \- something he just wasn't seeing.

Frustrated, and tired from lack of sleep, Chakotay felt the anger welling in him.

He kicked himself (again) for allowing Kathryn planet-side on her own. He knew playing the "if only..." game was a waste of energy, but it was hard not to - if he could alter just one choice, none of this would have happened. Maybe they'd be sitting down to a drink right now.

He pictured her at the bar, seated where her jacket had just been. Back straight, drink lifted elegantly in one hand, the other one gesturing purposefully (yet gracefully) as she talked, in her typical style. He thought of her laughing, her bare arms and shoulders shaking lightly, their slender, sculpted form highlighted in the dim bar light. _Happy and relaxed._

He imagined himself lingering near the entrance, maybe leaning back against the wall, watching her as she seized the attention of those around her. _Unable to hide a knowing smile._ She'd see him if she turned around, and his secret would be revealed (impossible as it would be, to hide his feelings as he observed her like this), but she'd be wrapped up in her company, and he'd be early, so she wouldn't be looking for him yet.

He pictured those near her listening, captivated, to a story she was telling - maybe something wild and adventurous from her younger years. She had a way of drawing people in, making them want to be near her. She could hold a room, capture everyone's attention, and somehow evoke wisdom, humor, power, and sex, all at the same time - a combination so intriguing and alluring, it was hard to look away.

The image of her was so vivid that Chakotay felt a rush of anticipation swell across his body, as if she were a mere few meters away and he was about to join her. Bask in that _warmth._ He pictured the glances - the way the patrons, her company, would look at him when he approached and his connection to her became obvious. She'd introduce him - how? As her subordinate? No - enjoying being off duty too much for rank, she'd introduce him as her friend. She'd take a sip of her drink, uncross her legs, smile at him, and someone - either to her left or right - would clear out to make room for him. With a gesture she'd summon a drink for him, another for herself, and so their evening would begin...

_Would have begun._

If only he'd not allowed her on the planet alone. If only he'd listened to that instinct he always had, to protect her. Put her first.

But there'd been no real reason to believe that _instinct_ had any merits beyond the usual. And, of course, this was no _ordinary_ woman who'd sought alone time in an unfamiliar place. This was Kathryn Janeway, exceedingly resourceful and capable Starfleet Captain. To have absolutely insisted she have an escort would have been insulting, and frankly, Chakotay knew, she wouldn't have allowed it.

_Damn it_ , _though_ \- how had everything gone so wrong, and so quickly?

She would have been noticed - one fair-skinned humanoid among many foreign faces - most blue, none like her. And she was definitely socializing. There _had_ to be a witness - someone who saw her leave, and with whom.

_If she'd been taken off-world..._

With a firm hold on Kathryn's jacket and the PADD, Chakotay turned abruptly from the bar and headed for the exit. It was time for a new plan of attack.


	8. Chapter 8

Light-years away, there was a bright, blinding light.

It was brief, like a flash, and then it was gone.

Kathryn Janeway drifted just below consciousness, and the light was part of her dreamscape. Then it flashed again, and jolted her into wakefulness.

It was dark, and her breath came in short, shallow gasps as she struggled to comprehend what was happening, and where she was. She was certain her eyes were open, but she couldn't see anything — then she registered the cloth over her head.

Instinctively, she struggled against the hood, and an icy terror shot up her spine when she realized she couldn't move her arms or legs.

She could feel them, though, and quickly discerned that her limbs were bound.

She was trapped — confined and helpless, in a frightening darkness — and her panic surged again as the full weight of it struck. She suddenly found it hard to breathe — the close, low-oxygen air around her face threatening suffocation.

She fought through it, reaching for something — anything — with which to ground herself. Searching her training and experience, she focused on her body, running over herself from head to toe, noting pain and injuries — documenting them in her head, like a medical report or a science experiment. Focusing on what she knew, what she could discern, instead of the terrifying unknown of nearly everything else.

Her shoulders, arms, and hands were numb, having been tied behind her back for who-knows-how-long, and sharp pain radiated from her thighs, knees, and ankles, where what seemed like thin rope held her legs together — wrapped so many times around, and so tightly she was certain it had cut into her flesh.

She was prone, on a hard surface with no discernible edges. The floor… but where?

Her head throbbed — her pulse pounding in her ears — and she was nauseous and dizzy. The blissful nothingness of unconsciousness threatened to pull her under, but she forced herself to stay awake by continuing to catalog her symptoms, adding them to her mental "report."

_A blow to the head, maybe — or drugs?_ She thought back, tried to remember….but there was nothing.

She worked to relax her breathing, pressing her mouth against the hood in an effort to draw in some fresher oxygen through its tiny pores. She went over her injuries and symptoms again, analyzing. Documenting. Focusing on the task as if it were a normal part of her work day...

_Breathe._

When the pounding in her head subsided a bit, she turned her limited faculties to her surroundings — _listened,_ holding down her fear so that her breathing, her pulse wouldn't drown everything out.

She could hear and feel a humming.

Her stomach dropped when she realized it was the sound of warp engines — but not _her_ warp engines.

And then she heard voices. Male. Two of them, maybe? She couldn't make out what they were saying.

The last thing she remembered, she'd been at a bar — on Koldera Minor. She was having a good time — playing pool, meeting new people.

_What had happened?_

She searched her mind again, pulling at her memories, but there was nothing that gave any clue how she had ended up _here,_ bound and hooded, on an unknown vessel, traveling who-knows-where at warp.

"Hey — she's awake!"

Her breath caught in her throat and she tried without success to pull her body in, reacting on instinct as the voice called out from somewhere nearby.

She couldn't discern the next bits of conversation, but then the voices were suddenly very close — two of them, yes — and painfully clear.

"We're on the other side now — let's get that hood off of her."

"Why bother?"

The first voice was gruff and deep. Weathered — and aged, probably. "Well, we don't want her to die on us. There's probably not much good air in the sac. Besides…she's not bad to look at."

The second voice huffed. "Fine."

Crisper — younger, probably — and angry.

Suddenly Kathryn felt hands grabbing at her. They jerked her up, pushed her into a sitting position, which her legs sharply protested, and then worked at the ties around her neck. She was stiff with fear as the hands touched her, pulling and prodding with no regard for her or her wellbeing. Then, with a swift and hard tug, they ripped the cloth off of her head. She slammed backwards into the floor with the force of it, the back of her skull cracking against the cold surface.

The room spun as the shockwave of the fall shot through her body, and she fought back the urge to vomit. She squeezed her eyes shut against the vertigo and the bright lights. One of the voices laughed.

She knew if she opened her eyes, she'd throw up, so she lay motionless and tried not to pass out. She could tell the men were standing above her; she shuddered internally as images of what might be coming next played in her head.

It _was_ a relief to have the hood off, and so she tried to focus on the clean, open air she was now able to breathe.

_Just...breathe…._

She thought about the meditation class she'd participated in not too long ago, on _Voyager_. How the first time Chakotay guided the class in the _Vipassana_ breathing exercises, she'd had a laughing fit. He'd assured her it was common (bursting into tears was apparently another popular reaction), but she'd had to leave the class for a few minutes to recover. She was certain then that she'd insulted him — she recalled pacing in the hallway, alternating between laughing and worrying that she'd hurt his feelings — but he wasn't angry. He did, however, insist that she keep trying.

Eventually she got the hang of it, and even still she wasn't sure which had been more rewarding — the physical and mental benefits of the meditation itself, or her first officer being so pleased with her for sticking with it.

She focused on her breathing, imagining her instructor's calm, low words, guiding her along — easing her into a state of mindful, but peaceful, relaxation. A place that was warm, and where the room did not spin…

The voices above her grew hollow as she continued to fixate on her breath, their words discernible but detached.

"She's passed out again. You were too rough with her." It was the older voice, rough and gritty, but there was a touch of kindness (or whatever it was that made him notice, and care, that she was hurt).

The other man huffed, and then called out a moment later from across the room. "Back to work, idiot!"

Kathryn waited, listening. The voices moved and grew muted and far away — back in the direction she'd first heard them.

She waited another cautious moment and then opened her eyes. She slowly scanned her surroundings, moving her head as little as possible. She was in what appeared to be a supply room — mostly empty, save for a few small crates stacked along the far wall and a desk nearby. It was not closed off from the rest of the ship; across from the containers, an entryway stood open, and it appeared to lead to the business section of the vessel — where it sounded like the men were. Small windows punctuated the wall closest her, and thin, sparse steaks of light confirmed they were at warp.

She discovered she could wiggle her body slightly, and that, in turn, she could _very_ slowly inch across the floor. With much effort, she worked her way over to the closest wall, and then, using an awkward combination of her head, her core muscles, and the cold inner hull panel she'd crawled like a crippled snake to reach, she worked herself up to a sitting position.

She leaned against the wall, breathing heavily from the effort, and even though she was still tied up and extremely vulnerable, it felt better to be sitting. She scanned the room again, noting everything around her. There were a couple electronic devices on the desk she hadn't been able to see before — unidentifiable, but maybe useful. A couple of the crates clearly contained food.

As much as she dreaded seeing her captors again, she needed to know what was happening — where they were, and why they had taken her.

She thought about screaming, but realized it would probably garner her a gag, and possibly the hood again. So she settled on raising her voice to get their attention, drawing on her Starfleet experience to speak steadily and firmly, betraying no fears.

"Hello?! Where am I, and why am I here? Who's out there?! Show yourself!"

It didn't take long for the men to appear, and for the first time, Kathryn got a good look at them. Both Kolderan, and she'd been right about their relative ages.

"Why have you taken me against my will?!" She demanded as they approached.

The younger man grinned, revealing large, crooked teeth. "Spunky little thing, isn't she?"

The older man didn't say anything, just stared in Kathryn's direction, at some invisible point above her shoulder, not meeting her eyes.

"My _dear_ , you are here because you are going to make us very, _very_ wealthy!" He stood over her, and Kathryn could see tiny drops of spit landing in her direction as he over-enunciated each word. " _You_ have all the qualities of a _Rank 20,_ and my _precious_ , _darling_ woman, that is not an opportunity we can very well pass up, now is it?!"

He crouched low in front of her, grinning still, and eyeing her form. He reached up to her face and traced its contours with two of his fingers, deceitfully gentle as he trailed down to her neck — red and sore from the ties. His hand continued moving over her, all fingers now employed as he grazed over her chest. Kathryn glared at him defiantly, revealing nothing of the horror she felt.

He squeezed at her breast and she showed no reaction. His expression changed abruptly then, as he stared into her hardened eyes and registered their contempt — their distinct lack of fear — and before Kathryn knew what was happening, he closed a hand around her throat. Her shocked expression seemed to delight him, and he laughed as she gagged and struggled for air.

"Merv! Hold up!" The older man stepped in close, and spoke more forcefully than it seemed his raspy voice was capable.

_Merv_ flinched, but didn't move, his firm hand fixed around Kathryn's throat.

"Merv, you have to stop!" Now he placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder, pulling back on him, though not forcefully. "Merv! She's worth more healthy!"

_That_ was obviously something that appealed to _Merv's_ sensibilities, because it was then that he loosened his grip and let his hand drop. Kathryn coughed and breathed in gasps, to which he smiled — not happy being talked down, but enjoying her suffering.

He rose, and for the first time, Kathryn noticed how the other man towered over him.

"You worry too much." He paused, staring at Kathryn, and then turned to his partner. "See to her," he barked.

With that, he stormed out of the room and, she presumed, back up to the ship's control center, leaving Kathryn alone with the other man.

She knew better than to let her guard down — he may seem kinder than his partner, but he was obviously still a very willing participant in her abduction.

She was considering how she might use their relationship and respective personalities to her advantage when she was suddenly lifted off the floor.

The large Kolderan man had one-armed her up and over his shoulder, rather effortlessly.

"You can relax," he said, as the blood began to rush to her head. "We're going to the sickroom."


	9. Chapter 9

By the time they reached the sickroom, Kathryn had developed a fair sense for the layout of the ship. From her inverted position en route, she'd craned her neck to look around, noting doors and corridors as they went.

She was thinking over the mental map she'd constructed, filling in the gaps with her best guesses, when they passed through a wide door. Suddenly, she found herself upright on what appeared to be an examination table.

Free from her captor's hold, Kathryn instinctively drew away, sliding back on the table and preparing to defend herself.

A lot of good it would do, considering the man's size and strength, but she was not about to willingly submit to _whatever it was_ he had planned.

Ignoring her, he stepped back and away from the table — this gave Kathryn an unobstructed view of her surroundings, and her gaze was immediately drawn across the room, where she spotted a pair of surgical beds.

Her breath stopped short in her chest when she registered that _they were not empty._

Two women, whose species Kathryn did not know, were laid out — unconscious and restrained, with an array of tubes and wires running from their unclad bodies to nearby… _machinery._

Kathryn's pulse soared as a new, cold fear filled her.

She looked around for a weapon, a way to escape — _anything —_ but she was trapped. The brute of a man who'd carried her here didn't seem to notice her sudden panic — either that, or it didn't concern him. He was rummaging around in a drawer next to the table, mumbling something she could not discern.

"What's wrong with them?!" She demanded.

He looked up from what he was doing and merely stared at her, his face expressionless, before returning to his task.

After a moment, he pulled out a device — A scanner? A weapon? Whatever it was, Kathryn slid back even more, distancing herself from the object as much as she could. She searched again, desperately, for a means of escape.

He eyed her, and she put her hands up. "Don't touch me."

He moved in and waved the device around, ignoring her protests.

"Get away from me!" She batted at the object with her hands, and felt a surge of satisfaction when she knocked it loose and sent it flying across the room.

The man sighed. "I can't treat your injuries if I don't know what they are," he said simply, and, it seemed, without anger.

"Those women," she gestured at them, and the torturous-looking devices to which they were connected. "What's wrong with them?!"

"It's not your concern."

"What's wrong with them?!"

He sighed again. "I need to see to your injuries."

He took a couple of steps away and turned to retrieve the device, and that was all Kathryn needed. She leapt off the bench and ran to the door in what seemed like one quick motion. Frantically, she punched at the nearby keypad, but nothing happened.

Another sigh from the man, and then Kathryn was airborne, draped over the his shoulder like a blanket. He dumped her back on the table.

"You're lucky _he's_ not down here."

Kathryn pulled away and eyed him, her face firm - something she found much easier to muster now that there were other, presumably innocent lives at stake.

"What. Happened. To. Those. Women?!"

He punched some buttons on the scanning device and considered her.

"They had a bad reaction."

"To what? Drugs?"

"Among other things." He shrugged, and Kathryn felt a chill run up her spine at his nonchalance.

"Will they recover?"

He looked over at them for a moment, and then back at Kathryn. "Maybe. Maybe not."

She studied his face. "I didn't have the reaction," she said evenly, hoping that by stating it like something she already knew, he'd indirectly confirm or deny what had happened to her. How she got here.

"No, you were textbook."

She stared at him in silence, taking in this new information — and that she was not the only captive here — and after a moment he held up the device again. She recoiled.

He drew the object back, and then abruptly shoved it into her hand. "Scan yourself, then."

Kathryn felt the weight of the device in her palm as she continued to stare at the man, trying to read him. His arms were now crossed over his chest, but otherwise, he did not seem to display anger or aggressiveness of any kind.

She glanced the surgical tables and their occupants out of the corner of her eye, and felt her fear and anger coalescing into the fiery inner strength she'd come to rely on in dire circumstances. Built from life experiences and her years in Starfleet, it channeled her fear into a more useful energy, forced out hopelessness, and put her mind on a problem-solving track.

_There's a solution here — I will find it._

The man before her had demonstrated he was not an inherently cruel person — at least, not when compared to his partner. She needed to work this to her advantage somehow.

Regarding the beastly humanoid before her, she asked, "are you a doctor?" She was certain he wasn't, but it was better for her cause to pretend she thought him someone of stature.

He chuckled lightly and shook his head. "No. The doctor…he's no longer with us."

Not bothering to consider what that meant, she held up the scanner. "But you've trained in some way, to perform a doctor's duties?"

"I picked up a few things over the years." He shrugged and uncrossed his arms, then held out a hand, palm open. "How about you let me scan you now?"

She hesitated, but in the name of building trust and obtaining more information, she handed the device back.

He tapped a serious of buttons on a panel next to the exam station, then began running the wand back and forth about six inches from Kathryn's torso.

"What's your name?"

He didn't answer right away, focusing his attention instead on the panel that was presumably displaying data on Kathryn's physical well-being.

He punched a few more buttons, and, without looking away from the display, he said, "Colvin. From Senis IV."

"What were you doing on Koldera Minor?"

He regarded her now, seeming to consider the possible motives for her inquiry, but ultimately he either didn't care or wasn't concerned, because a moment later he answered. "Business, as always."

"You and…Merv. Your business is the trafficking of female humanoids."

Reading from the panel, Colvin announced, "you have a lot of bruising around your ribs, lacerations on your legs and back, a laryngeal hematoma, moderately severe dehydration, and a mild concussion."

She nodded, unsurprised by the list, and more than a little relieved there wasn't more to it.

"We can fix you up easily enough." He stepped away to search for some tools. Kathryn stayed put this time.

He returned with something that loosely resembled a dermal regenerator. "It will take longer through the fabric," he said, and Kathryn tensed. But he simply went about attending her wounds, starting with those on her legs, apparently not minding the extra effort that would be required.

He certainly didn't seem like a man who regularly abducted and sold women for a living. Kathryn knew there had to be more to his story than a simple partnership with Merv.

She was lost in her thoughts about it when he spoke again. "It didn't used to be this way. We used to trade machinery. Engine parts. Things like that. But there's more money in the slave business. _A lot_ more." He glanced up at her, and then back down to her leg, where he steadily held the healing device. Well versed in reading people, the brief turn was enough for her to catch the remorse in his eyes.

"How long have you…" She hesitated, she realized, because she was looking for a diplomatic way to describe his business. There wasn't one, but the sensibilities of Janeway-the-negotiator had instinctively kicked in.

He knew what she meant, and didn't hesitate to answer. "Almost three revolutions. It was supposed to be a one-time thing, but the money was too good."

"You like having a lot of money," she hazarded, stating the obvious in her dig for more information.

"I _owe_ a lot of money," he said. He switched to her other leg and started the healing process at her ankle. "I'm close, though. One day soon, I will be my own man again. In fact, if Merv's assessment is correct, you'll have me nearly paid in full."

Kathryn shuddered internally, but not so much for herself as for the idea of undertaking years of heinous crime in the name of settling up.

"Why me?"

"Because…you're more than just an…attractive specimen." He didn't look up, but Kathryn thought she saw his face redden slightly. "It was obvious from across the room — he picked you out right away. Your intellect. And once we learned your profession, your skill set…"

"I'm flattered," she said wryly.

"This one is deep," he said, gesturing to her left thigh.

"I could have told you that."

He nodded, punched a series of buttons on the tool, and re-applied it above her wound. "You could do almost anything, anywhere — any job, any role. That makes you extremely valuable."

"I'm 'extremely valuable' to my crew," she said. "We're trying to get home…" Her throat tightened as the emotions surfaced, but she forced it back with practiced skill. "I'm certain they're looking for me."

"No doubt. But they're not going to find us out here, beyond the portal."

Her heart sank, but she remained resolute. "They are very resourceful."

"We know — that's why we came this way. It'll take longer, and it's more dangerous out here, but it's the best option, considering."

Kathryn nearly jumped out of her skin when the ship's comm lit up and Merv's voice boomed above her head.

"Are you about finished down there?"

Colvin rushed to the nearest terminal to respond. "Yeah, yeah — almost done."

"Hurry it up. We're nearing the Casus Belt."

Colvin nodded to himself, and Kathryn felt a rush of panic as she realized her time might be running out.

He began to work on her other injuries, and she sought to keep him talking.

"What will happen to me?" She asked, allowing some of her fear and sadness into her voice.

"You'll be sold to our contact. I don't know any more beyond that."

"What about them?" She gestured to the surgical beds.

He followed her gaze across the room and shrugged. "They've already been converted. They won't fetch that much, but they'll be useful to someone as test subjects."

Kathryn shook her head. "Doesn't it bother you? Doing this to people?"

He was silent for an extended moment as he administered a treatment on her neck injury.

"I try not to think about it."

She flinched as a sharp pain shot down her back. He drew the device away, and put his other hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry about that. Your anatomy is similar to ours, but there are some differences."

She nodded her understanding, but felt tears stinging her eyes as the pain and her emotions connected, threatening to shatter her equilibrium. She took a breath to compose herself, but the tears slipped down her cheeks and onto Colvin's arm.

He glanced briefly at his arm and then returned to treating her. She willed calm into her body as the pain in her neck and back subsided.

"I _don't_ like doing this," he said, avoiding eye contact. "But I have no choice."

"Oh, there's always choice," she said easily - words she lived by.

"Not where I come from."

He handed her a small cloth, and she used it to dry her cheeks.

"What is the Casus Belt?"

He watched her wipe the tears, sympathy not lacking in his expression. "It's a region of dense interstellar matter that we have to pass through to reach our destination."

"And you have to help Merv navigate?"

"You got it. We had some _issues_ last time." He made a final pass over her with the scanner. "Do you feel better?"

She nodded. "I'm thirsty, though. And hungry."

"Alright, come on. I'll get you set up in a cell, and then we'll take care of it." He gestured for her to come down from the table, and she was surprised that he was apparently going to allow her to walk under her own power.

Sure enough, he made for the door, and then turned back and motioned for her to follow.

Kathryn's mind began working, frantically considering options, a plan of action, that might lead to her escape. She followed him into the corridor, knowing that whatever she was going to do, she had to do it soon.


	10. Chapter 10

"Sir? Sir!" The small, pale blue woman stepped hastily around her desk and attempted to stop the intruder, who had abruptly spoiled her otherwise pleasant and quiet day. "You can't go in there! He's in a meeting! Sir!"

Chakotay grabbed the handle of Minister Denixsen's door, but stopped short of opening it. He turned to face the petite Kolderan woman, deciding he might as well make an effort at diplomacy.

"I need to see him," he said, feigning friendliness. He even forced a smile, hoping it would come across more charming than not.

She crossed her arms and glared at him, her light blue skin contrasting sharply against the yellow of her tunic. "You'll have to make an appointment."

"Do you know who I am?" He tried smiling again, aiming to outright flirt with the woman, but he didn't quite pull it off. His patience was overtaxed and overtired.

"Yeah, I know who you are. Don't expect me to be impressed and give you special treatment."

Tolerance shattered, he dropped the act like a lead balloon.

"I need to see him _now._ And by _'now'_ I mean _this very second_. Not tomorrow, not by appointment — _Right. Now."_ With that, and her squeaky protests as accompaniment, he threw the door open.

She raced to get in front of him, but there was nothing she could do to prevent his sudden and uninvited audience with Minister Denixsen.

Denixsen, for his part, was most definitely _not_ in a meeting, save for whatever might be taking place in dreamland. The banging of the door against the adjacent wall roused him from what looked like a rather peaceful nap.

"Sorry to disturb you," Chakotay snapped. "Good to know you're getting plenty of sleep as a crime scene unfolds around you."

He sat up, mouth agape, and stared, clearly at a loss.

"I'm sorry, minister. I tried to stop him!" She put herself between them, as if it might actually impact the situation.

Likening her to a pesky insect, Chakotay ignored the small, fluttering woman and stared hard at the man she was attempting to shield. "My problem has not been solved, minister, and that is unacceptable."

Denixsen slowly stood and put a hand on the woman's shoulder. "Return to you desk, Nira."

She looked at him, her eyes large, until he nodded confirmation. Then she gave a last hard, icy glare at Chakotay and scurried from the room.

Chakotay pushed the door shut behind her, more for effect than anything.

He towered over the Kolderan man, and straightened his spine as he stepped forward to maximize the effect.

"I'm sorry you have not had any luck finding your friend," Denixsen said, backing away from Chakotay, in the direction of his desk. "Have you eaten? We have some wonderful —"

"I'm not interested in food, or small talk. What I want is my captain." He stepped in close to the smaller man, invading his personal space and forcing him up against the desk. Chakotay did nothing to mask his anger, and Denixsen withered beneath his gaze. "Let's get one thing clear, minister. Your life is going to get very, _very_ miserable if you don't get your ass in gear and get me some answers!"

Chakotay lingered above the man pointedly before finally stepping back and allowing him to breathe.

Calmer now by design, Chakotay grabbed a pad of paper from the nearby conference table and deposited it in the minister's unsteady hands.

"Here's what you're going to do for me." He eyed Denixsen and the pad of paper until the Kolderan caught his meaning and grabbed a writing utensil. Pacing a short distance back and forth, Chakotay outlined his demands.

"I want all cargo and passenger records for the past year," he paused until Denixsen began writing. "And I want a complete and detailed list of _every being_ residing on this planet, and all visitors in and out. I want security footage, images — anything and everything — showing incoming and outgoing traffic, space bound or not, and I want a list of _everything_ that's manufactured, sold, and/or traded on this planet. Oh, and, I want planet-wide crime reports dating all the way back to the day this Gods-forsaken world was settled."

Denixsen was scribbling furiously, his face troubled. Chakotay waited for him to catch up, arms crossed.

When the minister looked up, he was trembling visibly. "Commander…not all of these records are available, and certainly not at the level of detail you are asking for here…"

"Give me what you've got. And, I'm not asking, minister."

The smaller man opened his mouth, as if ready to reiterate the impossibility of the request, but then he thought better of it.

"Send it directly to _Voyager_. You'll be hearing from me every hour until I have what I need. And, mark my words — if you should fail to take this request seriously, the next thing I'll be sending your way is a photon torpedo."

Denixsen nodded, speechless.

Satisfied he'd delivered his message, Chakotay turned on his heel and left the room, throwing the door back loudly as he made his exit.

"Have a great day, Nira," he said as he passed her desk on his way to the central corridor. She, too, was speechless.

* * *

 

Colvin and Kathryn had just entered the storage room, the area where Kathryn had initially found herself, when the ship rocked heavily. Kathryn could tell it was due to an impact of some kind, and she knew it meant they'd likely arrived at the debris field.

Merv yelled from the front of the ship. "Get up here! Now!"

Colvin panicked, scrambling forward, and then back, apparently debating his priorities.

He opened a cabinet along the wall and grabbed two small wrapped packages from a high shelf. Kathryn glanced over the contents of the open storage unit, stopping short when she recognized some of the things stashed haphazardly at the bottom.

"My things — my things are in there," she said, pointing, a bit dumbly (of course he knew her things were in there). She quickly realized that her belongings lay with a pile of other personal effects, which no-doubt belonged to other beings brought here against their will. What had become of them? She felt an intense sadness as she thought about the women in the sick room, and the many other souls whose lives had been shattered in the name of profit.

Colvin considered her, and then reached down to grab her scarf and her brooch. The ship rocked again — lighter this time — and he grabbed her by the arm. "Come with me."

He pulled her down the corridor and around a corner, and shoved her into a holding cell. He tossed after her the wrapped packages and the two personal items he'd selected to return. He quickly activated the barrier, and then dashed away without another word.

Kathryn lost her footing when the ship convulsed again, violently — no doubt striking a larger object this time. She very much doubted the piloting skills of her captors, and briefly contemplated her imminent death, what she might do in her final moments — desiring foremost to send a message to her ship.

But as dire as the circumstances were, she was not about to give up.

Colvin had made a serious error, apparently mistaking Kathryn's combadge for a piece of jewelry. The lifeless click it made when she squeezed it confirmed that she was out of _Voyager's_ range, but the device could be modified and used in other ways, for other tasks.

She picked up the soft, dark scarf and looped it around her neck. She felt a knot in her stomach as she breathed its scent, but that feeling, and the longing for home, quickly propelled her into action. Ignoring the wrapped packages she knew were food of some kind, she retreated to the back of the cell, combadge in hand, and went to work.


	11. Chapter 11

"What, exactly, are we looking for?"

Harry Kim accepted a stack of PADDs from Chakotay, clutching them against his body so the _rather overwhelming_ number of them wouldn't tumble to the floor.

"Clues. And patterns." Chakotay said, regarding the ensign for a moment before adding another PADD to the top of his stack.

"Patterns," Harry echoed, intoning his need for elaboration.

"Look for regularities in traffic. Do certain vessels come once a week? Once a month? Do they always load the same kind of cargo? Where do they take it? What vessels have been in the area recently, on _or off_ record? We need to map out every world they've ever traded or interacted with, because the next step is for us to follow the trails that lead away from the planet." He shifted some more PADDs around on the desk in Kathryn's ready room before folding his hands and attempting to stand still. "I want to know what, _exactly_ , they manufacture, trade, and sell, and where. Everything above-board, and everything that's not. And, what's the planet's history? What kind of crime do they have? How are the perpetrators dealt with?" He sighed, knowing he was grasping at straws. "Just…anything that sends up a red flag. Anything that might help…"

Harry nodded, ready to go to work, but then he paused suddenly and, for the first time since the captain's disappearance, really took in Chakotay's appearance. His commanding officer projected an air of determination and purpose, but just below the surface, detectable perhaps only to his closest friends, was a burgeoning well of grief that Harry hoped to the edge of the universe and back they could quickly dispel.

They'd find her. _They had to._

* * *

The ship had taken several more hits by the time Kathryn was ready to start testing the combadge.

She wondered how many times Merv and Colvin had actually piloted through this expanse, and if their ship was _ever_ in one piece after.

She'd not seen any other crew on board, which was odd, considering the ship's size. If it were a Starfleet vessel, the personnel complement would be well over a dozen.

She couldn't _completely_ rule out other crewmen, but given that Merv had called on Colvin alone when the got to the Casus Belt, it certainly seemed as if the two men were running the ship by themselves.

They'd lost their doctor, of course. Probably other people, too — and recently. Kathryn couldn't imagine the two men maintaining and operating the ship on their own for longer than a couple of months. Clearly, they were running on luck as much as anything at this point.

She felt a surge of adrenaline as she thought about her plan to ensure an end to that "luck" — right here and now.

Her heart raced as she stepped close to the cell barrier and began her efforts to shut it down. She'd rigged the combadge to emit a pulse that (she hoped) would interrupt the generator once she found the right frequency.

It would take several seconds to alter the phase velocity and wavelength after each burst, and although Kathryn felt a terrifying urgency to complete her task — amplified every time the ship rocked in protest to offending debris — she took a breath and reminded herself to stay calm and focused. She needed to cycle through the frequencies in a systematic way if she had any hope of success.

Another breath in, and her training took over. She fell into a rhythm, tapping the small buttons in sequence to adjust and test the frequencies, and everything else slipped away as she became singularly focused on the task.

When a violent collision rocked the ship, nearly knocking her off her feet, she recovered with a practiced ease, her concentration barely wavering. If anything, the jolt honed her focus even further. _This was familiar — s_ hip in trouble, life on the line, a well-defined mission to carry out. _This_ she could do.

Driven, she worked through the frequencies, holding in check the desperate hope she felt each time she set off a new burst...

She wasn't keeping track of the minutes, but she knew they were passing quickly. As she continued to cycle up the spectrum, the ship took on a steady tremor - likely due to a weakening of structural integrity.

With burst after burst still showing no effect, Kathryn began to feel a distant, nagging worry that it wasn't going to work at all.

Another heavy collision wracked the vessel, and from the nature of the aftermath — the sounds in the hull and the smell of singed metals in the air — Kathryn knew that the ship's vital functions were on the line. If it wasn't the structural integrity that gave way, it would be the inertial dampers, or any number of systems she doubted the current "crew" had any idea how to troubleshoot or repair. She felt an intense, instinctive need to take control of the ship, before it was too late.

She continued working at the barrier - steadily, willing calm into her body - but she knew time was slipping away.

_Was the signal strong enough?_ She could have passed the frequency already...

Even as her doubts grew, there was nothing left but to keep trying.

The impacts became more frequent - smaller objects, but now, nearly constant collisions - and from the sound of it, Kathryn reckoned the vessel no longer had shields. It would not last much longer like this.

She worked still, unfaltering - refusing to give up - but the low, persistent din of hopelessness intensified, rising from within her core, and in some small part of her mind, Kathryn began to weigh the very real prospect of her imminent death.

As those thoughts invaded, she felt not fear, but regret.

As a Starfleet officer, Kathryn had tended to all matters relating to her demise — will and testament, funeral preferences, a recorded last message for her crew, letters to loved ones, and for her closest colleagues on _Voyager._

But she'd not updated those materials in a couple of years, and the letters, in particular, were out-of-date now. _So much_ had happened since she'd recorded them.

Most troubling, she realized — her self-censoring riven, crumbled by its pointlessness — was one, specific letter, whose contents would read now as very lacking. That wouldn't come close to expressing her feelings in the present.

It was a task she had avoided — re-recording _that_ message — because those feelings had always been difficult to face, and were even harder to express.

Now, she'd never get the chance.

Her work at the barrier briefly faltered as the finality of it hit her fully.

She thought about the way one could always rationalize in life, _those things left unsaid._ How there are always reasons, and how they always seem like _good_ reasons, _purposeful reasons._ Until you're standing at death's door and the knowledge that life is short shifts abruptly from a simple, academic concept, to an acute, palpable, all-consuming reality.

There was nothing to do but swallow the regret.

She continued working the combadge, futile as it seemed. _She would go down fighting._

She thought about _Voyager_ — her crew — and how much she would miss them. She thought about Kauai. _Her birthday._ All of them, together...

Then, _suddenly_ — _the cell barrier flickered._

Her breath caught in her chest at the shock of it, and her heart nearly leapt from her body.

She almost dropped the combadge as she worked to steady herself, pulse pounding and hands shaking.

Disbelieving, dizzy at the sudden turn of the tide, she took a deep breath in, and clicked the combadge again.

_Steady..._

_Breathe..._

She ran the next frequency….and the next…and…

_That was it!_

The barrier vanished with a sharp electrical buzz. _She was free!_

Wasting no time, she sprang into action, instantly re-embodying the all-business Starfleet captain who knew how to work a crisis.

_Weapon. She had to secure a weapon._

She darted toward the sickroom, calling up her mental map of the ship.

She'd seen a series of storage lockers, between there and what she guessed was the engine room. It seemed a likely spot for weaponry, or at the very least, it was a good place to start. Breathing hard, she looked back only once to make certain she was alone.

There were four lockers — all secured. She tried the handles a second….a third time, but no luck.

She double-backed, and made her way to the door she thought must lead to the engine room. It didn't open at her presence, but a quick few taps at the adjacent control panel and the door slid back. She dashed inside, scanning the new space urgently.

It was the engine room, all right, and as far as she could tell, it was unoccupied.

Unoccupied _and on the verge of collapse…_

Kathryn quickly spun the options in her head. Could the ship be saved? Were there escape pods? Was there a shuttle? Warp-capable? She needed to get back to _Koldera Minor_ — or at least back through what she assumed was the wormhole they had passed through earlier. Colvin had said they were "on the other side" — wormhole or similar, it was unlikely that she could signal _Voyager_ unless she traveled back through the phenomenon. And she'd have to re-trace their course. Could she do that from a shuttle, if there was one?

As she was considering her next move, her gaze landed abruptly on a wall-mounted case, hanging on the opposite side of the room. She could tell from the look of it, _there were weapons inside._

She bolted across the room, and almost gave a cry of joy when the case opened easily. And again when a hearty stash of phaser-like weapons was revealed.

She stuffed two of the smaller units into her belt, and grabbed a more powerful device to carry at point. She pulled the lever back and the rifle hummed to life.

Then, almost as if in response, there was a loud release of pressure from the engine core, and coolant came pouring out. She ran back to the door and into the corridor, knowing that she had precious little time remaining.

In seconds, she was outside of the control center. Merv and Colvin were decidedly distracted as they worked to salvage the ship, and Kathryn did not hesitate.

She hit Merv first, connecting easily with the back of his head. He collapsed into a heap on the floor, and she fired again for good measure.

Colvin jumped up out of his chair and turned in one swift motion. His eyes were large as he spotted Kathryn, and then Merv's prone, smoking corpse.

He said nothing.

Kathryn felt a twinge of sympathy as she raised and pointed her weapon squarely at his chest.

He slumped forward, shoulders sinking low, as he seemed to resign himself to his fate. He looked down at the floor and spoke in a low voice. "I….I knew you could do it."

Kathryn regarded him with wide eyes as she realized, stunned, that he had not, in fact, returned her combadge by mistake. Disbelief morphed into anger when she thought about how close she'd come to giving up.

"And what if I hadn't figured it out? What then? I just become another casualty of your... _business_ \- like those women in the sick room?"

He took in a breath and shook his head slowly. His eyes were glazed over. Distant. "I knew you were different..."

It wasn't an answer, and as Kathryn weighed her options, she found herself waffling between her feelings as a victim - ready to fight; to fire her weapon - and the deeply-ingrained, instinctive sensibilities that came with being a starship captain. Even as she held her weapon aloft, she knew which would win out, and it was reassuring to feel the cool stillness returning to her hands; the strength in her spine as she unconsciously stood taller.

She lowered her weapon - survival was much more likely with the two of them working together. "This ship isn't going to last. Where are we? Can we make an emergency landing?"

Colvin continued to stare at nothing, seemingly oblivious.

"Colvin!"

His head jerked up, and he regarded her, eyes wide - confused.

"What's our position? Is there a place we can dock or land?" Kathryn moved forward, stepping over Merv's body to take place at his station.

Colvin turned. He'd expected to be dead by now — hadn't thought of anything beyond a few moments ago — and he struggled to process the fact that he wasn't, in fact, dead. "We...we're nowhere..." He stared out at space. "I took us off course. I wanted to make sure we wouldn't arrive...that we wouldn't have to..." He brought a hand to his forehead and sighed, the rest falling away. "He never was much of a pilot."

Kathryn absorbed this new information as she poured over the control panel, trying to make sense of its layout. "What's our status? The engine - there's a coolant leak. We may need to eject the core. Colvin!"

He looked down her, seeming still half-lost in his head.

"Colvin! I need you _here_. I need you at your station!"

He nodded, more to himself than to her, and sank back into his chair.

"I need a status report on the core! And standby to eject - I have a feeling it'll be our only option at this point!"

Painfully slow to respond, but at least more "present" than he'd been a moment ago, Colvin punched a series of buttons and stared at his screen. "Core's blown. It's done for." He spoke with the strange, even calmness of a man who'd been ready to die, and was now merely marking time.

"Eject the core!"

"Can't."

"Manual override!"

She'd misunderstood, and some no-longer-sane part of him wanted to laugh. "The core can't be ejected. The whole mechanism...disabled and destroyed."

There was a story behind his words, but the urgency of the situation belayed any questions Kathryn might have had.

"Is there a shuttle?"

He nodded. "There's shuttle...not in the best condition."

"Escape pods?"

He pressed his lips together in a tight, sad smile before he spoke. "No. Not anymore."

"The shuttle, then. It will have to do!"

She was at the doorway before she realized he wasn't following her.

"Come on!" She gestured wildly with her arm, but he didn't move.

"Colvin! We have to get off this ship! _Right now!_ And — I need your help! Colvin, I can't do this alone!"

She'd guessed correctly, what would move him.

_"The shuttle! Come on!"_


	12. Chapter 12

There was a softness — _odd_. And wrong, somehow.

She couldn't place it, couldn't fathom its existence, so starkly did it contrast with everything else that flooded her senses.

Somehow, alongside the gruesome ringing in her head, the burning sensation in her lungs, and the blistering heat that seemed to press down on her body with weight and form, there was softness.

Perhaps it was the beginning of the end — her body shutting down against its trauma.

She focused on the strange _fluffiness_ beneath her palms — curled her fingers into it. It was there — surely it was there?

It was... _fresh. Vital._

It was… _childhood_.

_Summer._

Her mind was muddied, reeling in the chaotic, percussive aftermath of apocalypse, but the softness — its many threads that were woven into a wide, capacious whole — connected to something deeper.

It was... _long, lazy days_ — warm and carefree.

Clouds, puffy and white, drifting with the wind...

It was.. _.freedom._

It was... _solitude._ The kind that set heart and mind to soar — through daydreams, unencumbered. It was ecstasy, naïve and pure — possibilities boundless; life not yet weighed down with the burdens of age.

It was... _home._

And there, on the breeze, her mother's voice, calling her in for lunch...

She'd climb the big oak tree — the aged and weathered old growth that marked the edge of one field and the start of another — and holler back. Buy herself an extra few minutes.

She started to stand, to head for the tree…

And suddenly, she was aware of her breath — painful, breaking after every inhale.

_Coughing._ Exhales ragged and raspy as her lungs fought to purge the noxious gases that had invaded.

In her hands, two fistfuls of grass — long, wispy, frayed at the ends.

_Prairie._

But it wasn't home, of course.

Lucidity came; slowly at first, and then in a rush.

The shuttle. _The ship_.

_Her abduction..._

Kathryn pulled herself into a sitting position and squinted against the hot, bright sunlight, to take in her surroundings.

Grassland prairie, indeed — _beautiful_. Comforting in its striking resemblance to the landscape that had once nurtured her. Trees in the distance; blue sky.

And, not fifty meters from where she sat were the charred, still-smoking remains of the shuttle — her escape vessel and lifeboat, which had carried her... _here_.

Wherever _here_ was...

As she stared at the wreckage, memories of the crash came in flashes. The sound of it still rang in her head, and she realized suddenly that she could hear very little from her physical surroundings.

She'd been nearly deaf, too, when she had phasered her way out of the burning shuttle. She remembered seeing the light of the beam as it cut into the hull, and how she had panicked, that it wasn't working, because she couldn't _hear_ it.

And the second beam, working with hers, making quicker work of the task — she couldn't hear that, either.

_The second beam._

_Colvin._

The last thing she remembered of Colvin, he was kicking away the hull and pushing her through the hole they'd cut.

Freed from the fiery grave, she'd run — limped — until she couldn't anymore.

It must have been at that point, when she lost consciousness. _In the grass._

_Colvin._

She tried to speak, to call out to him, but her throat was too dry — her voice gone. She could only cough — a charred, ashen sound that reverberated in her skull.

Surely he'd made it out of the shuttle, too?

Pressing her palms to the ground both familiar and not, Kathryn pushed herself up. Slowly, she stood, talking stock of her body as she rose.

It seemed the damage was mostly internal. No broken bones as far as she could tell, no deep lacerations. Burns on her hands and arms, her torso — painful, but not severe.

The grass was burned away in a 10-meter-or-so radius around the shuttle — beyond that, stretching out in front of her, Kathryn could see the line of trampled reeds that marked her escape path.

She began to circle the shuttle, tracing a wide arc and scanning up and down the field as she went, searching for a similar, trampled path.

She found it — at 3 o'clock, relative to her 12.

Her lungs kept her from running outright, but she sped as rapidly as she could to the terminus of that path; he'd not made it as far as she had. A few meters away, she could see him in the grass — prone, with limbs haphazardly thrown.

She closed the remaining distance with a few large steps, and immediately dropped to her knees. She put her hands on his back, feeling for breath.

It was there — raspy and laboured, but it was there. _He was alive._

Then she saw the dark patch beneath his hip — the blackened, shiny grass and soil that betrayed his situation as more dire than hers.

With much effort, Kathryn pushed and rolled him over onto his back, and there, revealed, was a deep, still-bleeding gash that ran from his midsection to his side.

Without hesitation, she ripped away what remained of one uniform sleeve and pressed it onto the wound, but it had little effect. She added the other sleeve, but the laceration was too profound. The rest of her uniform would make little difference.

Grass? Leaves? She scanned the landscape — what could she use? He was bleeding too much, too fast. He'd be dead soon, if it wasn't already too late.

It hit her — the phaser. There was still a phaser, strapped in her belt. She would cauterize the wound.

It was a gruesome choice, but with the shuttle and its contents burned up, with leaves or grass unlikely to make a real difference, they were well past "last resort".

She pulled out the phaser, adjusted its settings, and went to work, grateful that he was unconscious.

The blood oozed and bubbled as she singed it, and his flesh seemed to liquify around the wound before it hardened. She drew the beam up and down, along the deepest part of the gash, and soon the bleeding grew less profuse — it was working. Whether or not it was already too late, she'd no idea.

She lingered over the worst of the wound, melting and burning it shut.

It was then that Colvin woke up, his deep, piercing scream ringing in Kathryn's stunted eardrums.


	13. Chapter 13

Aware of pain and little else, Colvin thrashed about, animalistic in his blind desperation to fight against his suffering. Kathryn barely escaped a fist in the side of her head; she stumbled backwards and sank into the grass, phaser loosed from her hand. 

“Colvin! _Colvin!”_ She repeated his name, over and over, beckoning him to awareness. When he finally stilled, he started to cough – the same kind of deep, laborious hacking she'd experienced upon waking. Kathryn crouched back in closer to him; made herself visible. 

“Colvin, it's me. _It's Kathryn.”_ He blinked several times, bewildered, but he looked up at her. She put her hands near his shoulders. “We crashed – you're injured. You've lost a lot of blood. I need to finish cauterizing the wound.”

She searched his face for understanding – for acknowledgement – but he only stared. 

Kathryn quickly realized he'd likely suffered the same auditory trauma she had. She set about a different method of communication, drawing back from him slowly, pulling his gaze with her. She pointed to him and gestured at her own midsection, then made a cutting motion with one hand and mimed pain. 

She picked up the phaser and did her best to imitate wordlessly what she had done; what she needed to finish. 

He watched her, met her eyes, and nodded weakly. 

She crouched back near him, squeezed his hand. He nodded again and then pressed his eyes shut when she held up the phaser. 

“Do it,” he said, voice ashen and thick. Kathryn felt the vibration of his speech in his chest, but she'd _heard_ the words, too. Barely, intermixed as they were with the ringing in her head, but she'd _heard_. It was the first good sign that the damage to her hearing might not be permanent. 

Colvin flinched the moment she reapplied the phaser beam, but quickly stilled, bearing down against the pain. 

When the work was done, Kathryn put a hand on his arm, patted lightly. She felt for his pulse. It seemed strong – rapid, and easy to find on his wrist. Without a working knowledge of his species' anatomy, she couldn't say for certain what that meant, other than that he was _alive_. 

She sat back on the grass and let out a breath, her lungs protesting as she attempted to draw it out. She watched Colvin's chest rise and fall unsteadily, his respiratory system as haggard as hers but still functioning. When she looked up at his face, she saw that he was unconscious again. That was probably good -- all of his body's resources directed at healing, none wasted on the fear and panic of their situation. 

With the most immediate crisis out of the way, Kathryn began to fully consider their circumstances. She found herself constructing a mental list of priorities and next steps. Foremost on her mind – was this planet inhabited? 

There'd been no sign so far – no air traffic or settlements to be seen – but their visual range had been quite limited. 

When Colvin woke – _if_ Colvin woke, she corrected herself, opting to be as realistic as possible – she would get all the information she could, about where they were and what might be here. 

_We’re nowhere…_

Kathryn recalled his earlier words, and she thought about the wormhole or gateway they’d passed through early on, crossing from a place foreign but within reach of her ship — her life — to who-knows-where in the galaxy. 

If it was a wormhole, was it stable? Was its location well-known, and could they get back there? 

_We’re nowhere…_

Kathryn looked out across the landscape and then up at the sky. The planet was clearly quite alive, teeming with life forms of all kinds. Were there any of them sentient?

The wide-open prairie and vast sky view only amplified her feelings of isolation. With the wormhole as a variable, it was possible she was an incredible distance from the people with whom she belonged. And they’d no ship, no resources… _nothing._

A chill shot up her spine as her mind went _there_ , but she shook it off quickly. They were _somewhere_. And that “somewhere” was a clearly an _M-class_ world, from which she could surely extract and obtain the materials necessary for survival. She was _trained_ to do just that. And she’d faced countless seemingly-hopeless situations in her career, always persevering in the end, always finding a way through. _That_ was what she _did_ — what she was known for. It would be no different here. 

_Water, food...shelter._

The planet's parent star was high, bright, and strong in the sky, and while Kathryn didn't know how Kolderan skin would fare under a long solar exposure, the last thing _she_ needed was a sunburn. 

Shade was a good distance off – too far to drag Colvin, even if she could manage to move him. 

She would have to build a shelter where he lay – in the middle of the field. Not the most ideal spot from a tactical standpoint, but it would have to do.

She checked Colvin’s vitals again and then stood, legs weak and unsteady. She took a moment to stretch — her back, her hips, her legs. She was sore from the entire experience, from her abduction to their crash-down on the planet. Her body felt tired and abused, but she could stand, she could walk, and most of all, she was _alive._ Could be worse! She was a Starfleet officer, still fully capable, and it was time to get to work.

She identified the closest section of forest, and set out in that direction to gather supplies.

She stopped short when she saw something in the grass up ahead, near the path where she had escaped from the shuttle. It was dark, almost like rocks in a small pile. She stepped closer and saw that it was, in fact, the scarf she had been wearing. 

_Chakotay’s scarf._

With a breath, and in a rush, she stooped to pick it up. She shook it and brushed away the particles of grass stuck to the yarn, and then looped it twice around her neck. It was too warm for a scarf, but she would not risk losing it again. 


	14. Chapter 14

The daylight was on its waning course as Kathryn made her last trek of many, from the woods back to their makeshift encampment. On this last, she brought more water, cupped carefully in a large, leaf-lined tree limb she had hollowed out with the phaser.

She carefully placed the "bowl" on the ground and used the phaser to heat the water to near-boiling, to kill off any harmful bacteria or parasites.

Weighing heavily on her mind as she watched the precious liquid begin to bubble was a hard truth: the phaser would not last indefinitely. They'd take their chances with the water when they had to, but many other tasks — such as cutting wood — would be much more challenging without their only modern tool.

Colvin had drifted into consciousness a couple of times during the afternoon, but had yet to remain awake for more than a few minutes. Kathryn had managed to get some water in him, during one waking moment, but he wasn't lucid enough to respond to her attempts at conversation.

She had constructed a very crude A-frame shelter, with large branches leaning together and a mishmash of grass, twigs, and leaves stuffed between them. Adrenaline and purpose had fueled her labor as she spent hours felling and cutting branches, hauling them back from the woods, and constructing the shelter, over and around Colvin. Now that the task was done — adequately for now, anyway — the full weight of her exhaustion was taking hold. Between the hard work setting up camp and her injuries, she felt utterly weakened to her core. It didn't help that she'd not had a real meal in…she didn't know how long. She had gathered some fruit on her questing today, and that helped, but she needed protein.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow she would take one or more of the small game animals she'd glimpsed today near the forest. The phaser would make quick work of it, and she'd manage the skinning and cleaning some way or another. Maybe fashion a knife of sorts, from a stone or stick.

She sat on the ground, sinking into it, her body heavy and weary. She put her hand above the water bowl, felt hot steam. She needed to stay awake long enough for it to cool. Although she had taken in several bowls of water today, she still felt dehydrated.

Summoning energy from a reserve she convinced herself existed, Kathryn crawled inside the shelter to check on Colvin. She was heartened to find his breathing a bit less ragged than earlier...though on second thought she wasn't sure it was a wholly positive sign. She placed her hands on his chest and reassured herself, at least, that his breathing was steady.

In the muted light that just barely illuminated the inside of the shelter, Kathryn examined the wound at Colvin's midsection. The cauterization had been successful in stopping the bleeding, but Kathryn imagined there was considerable damage below the surface. She could only hope that his species had a strong healing ability. Short of miraculously fashioning a rescue, there was little more she could do for him.

Grabbing his wrist, she felt for the cadence of his pulse. It was solid. Strong. For a moment, she sat unmoving. Her eyes drifted shut as she fixated on the steady beat pumping in her hand. It was soothing, somehow…and comforting. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the entire ordeal that had brought her here, or both, finally catching up with her, but Colvin's pulse — the life that flowed through his veins, palpable in her hand — calmed her uneasiness.

She considered curling up right there in the shelter — allow sleep to claim her, not alone…comforted. But Colvin could wake disoriented — unintentionally harm her, or worse.

She released his arm gently, then crawled back out of the shelter. She'd already piled together a bed of grass and leaves and would sleep under the stars tonight.

It was still warm, even with the daylight giving way, but a breeze was building, and with it the slightest hint of a chill, not unpleasant. She had wood piled for a fire but didn't yet feel the need to light it.

All the while she labored today, she'd kept half an eye on the sky, hoping to detect signs of civilization. But there'd been nothing — no ships, no contrails. No traffic of any kind.

If there were advanced sentients on the planet, surely they would have detected the shuttle, and the crash. Would they investigate? Send a rescue?

Her thoughts drifted back to the hauntingly quiet sky, now punctuated by scattered dots of light — the brightest visible stars, maybe a neighboring planet — and she shivered involuntarily.

She hugged the fabric of her scarf against her chest and laid back on the bed of grass. She watched the last of the daylight slip away, thought about the last sunset she'd seen...and the last real sunset, before that, on a planet not entirely unlike this one.

The night sky revealed was near as crisp and clear as from space, only the slight haze of the warm atmosphere impacting the view.

On the prairie as they were, the sky was vast, stretching to the low horizons — a sea of stars spread in all directions.

She remembered the water suddenly and sat up, feeling around gently for the bowl. The liquid was lukewarm to the touch when she found it — she took a long draught and carefully placed the object back on the ground. She'd have to make a larger container at some point, to store water near their camp.

Kathryn turned to look at the stars behind her before returning to rest, and there, rising above the distant forest, she spotted a wide, faint band of light. She traced it across the sky — its arc rising to near zenith before trailing off to her left — and held it in view as she settled back onto her sleeping area. Composed of countless stars, the visible arm of the Milky Way Galaxy was a companionable sight. Silly as it seemed, that stream of light made her feel a little less lost.

It meant nothing, really — of course they were somewhere in the vast galaxy — but somehow, the familiar celestial presence made her feel connected...to her life, the people in it…

She could hear nocturnal creatures, stirring and calling out from the forest. For all the ways her body was spent, her hearing had improved markedly; a welcome relief. Nearer by, winged creatures of the night — bats or something similar — darted overhead, and there were luminescent insects, glowing blue and green in small swarms above the prairie.

The planet was clearly teeming with life.

Were there humanoids?

If they were dealing with a pre-warp, or pre-flight civilization, it would be much harder to manage their return to Kolderan space. Harder, but not impossible, depending on the stage of sociocultural evolution. They could build upon primitive communication devices, alter basic propulsion systems, work with less-developed technology.

But there was another possibility: that sentient life had not yet evolved on this world. Or, that it had come and gone, civilizations risen and fallen, eons ago.

Kathryn folded her scarf several times and placed it under her head. She stared up at the band of the galaxy again, imagined she was looking in the direction of center where she glimpsed a grouping of planetary nebulae several degrees above the horizon, the subtle hues of blue and red just visible in the mist of galactic light.

A quiet longing took anchor in her heart, and she thought of home as she drifted off. It wasn't Earth that filled her mind, but Voyager.

Tomorrow she'd explore in another direction.

And maybe the sky would yet break its silence...


	15. Chapter 15

His name was  _Peter,_  and he was more clever than he looked.

He may not have encountered a humanoid before, but he knew enough to recognize in Kathryn's behavior and body language that she posed a threat. He disappeared into the underbrush — again — just as she was about to take him down.

Kathryn groaned in frustration. "Dammit, Peter! We're  _hungry!"_

In truth, she was rather enjoying the hunt.

Despite all the work and wounds of yesterday and a night of restless sleep, she felt a surge of energy as she maneuvered about the forest. She'd already taken water and fruit back to camp, and now she was looking to round-out their breakfast with some fresh meat.

 _Their_  breakfast — another reason her energy and mood were lifted: Colvin was awake.

He was in a substantial amount of pain, but he was  _awake —_   _and_   _aware_.

He had roused in the early twilight, with low groans of pain that woke Kathryn easily. When she'd crawled into the shelter to check on him, he was clutching at his side and attempting to sit up.

 _Peter_  rather resembled a rabbit of Earth, hence his name. Kathryn vowed not to make a habit of naming the animals, for sanity's sake, but at the moment it happily amused her.

She crouched low and waited, the phaser solid in her hand. Above her, the trees rocked lightly in the breeze and warming sunlight shimmered through the shifting leaves, angling in from the star's morning height in the sky. Whereas yesterday's afternoon warmth had reminded her of summer, the morning air spoke of April or early May, as she'd known it in Indiana.

The underbrush rattled, and as soon as she spotted his waft of fur, emerging from the protective cover, Kathryn fired and  _Peter_  dropped.

She shoved the phaser back into her belt and clapped her hands together with a sharp exhale.

Back at camp, Colvin sat propped up against a pile of leaves and brush at the entryway of the shelter. He turned his head at Kathryn's approach, smiled when he saw her kill, its hind legs in the clutch of her fist.

She sat with it on the ground near the fire and looked over the pile of small rocks and sticks she'd gathered to fashion for tools. None seemed to suit, so she considered the phaser, but she wasn't confident she could tune it finely enough for the task.

No — she'd have to tackle the skinning the old-fashioned way. Best that she get some practice at it — and besides, skinning by hand meant the fur was more likely to be in good shape when she was done, and more easily put to another use.

The fire had been burning for a while now, and the logs were ready. She'd already peeled the bark from the spit, and the tall anchor branches were in position on opposite sides of the fire. It was just the skinning of the animal that remained — an undertaking Kathryn did not relish. She glanced over at Colvin to find him watching, a tiny glint of amusement in his eyes.

"Survival 101, right?" She laughed.

He pointed to the animal's hind legs. "Start at the back," he said.

"Right."

It seemed such a basic task — one that certainly should not confound the likes of Kathryn Janeway — but she was hesitant as she brought her hands to bear around the furry carcass.

Then, with a breath, and perhaps hunger fueling her above all else, she bent and cracked the hind legs, pushing bone up through the skin, and began to work away at the outer layer of flesh.

The whole process took longer than it probably should have, but by the time Kathryn returned from washing up, the animal had begun to darken and brown as it sizzled above the logs. She handed Colvin a fresh bowl of water, cooled just enough to drink, and then sat a couple paces away, cradling her own bowl in both hands.

_Something to store water would be useful._

Maybe she could hollow out part of a tree stump — make a larger version of their small branch bowls. The work would take a lot of phaser energy, though, and there were other ways. She could gather materials for weaving, give a try at a basket — or perhaps she could construct a container by fastening together pieces of wood. She needed cording, anyway, to make tools. Sinew would be the most useful, but required she find some larger game.

Kathryn watched the animal cooking as she thought it over, along with her other immediate priorities and tasks.

That there had been no sign of civilization, resident or otherwise, was at the base of a rising uneasiness in the back of her mind, but then, they'd not been planetside for very long. They might be in a remote location. And she'd only just begun to explore; striking out in a new direction, farther from camp, could change everything.

Kathryn removed the spit from the fire and set it to cool for a moment.

She made use of a pointed stick this time, and then dug at the meat with her fingers.

It was tough and gamey, and ultimately rather sparse on the small creature's bones, but they ate it ardently, nonetheless.

"Not terrible," Colvin declared after a couple of bites.

She had to laugh — "My cooking has been described that way before."

The memory was a flash of warmth, and brought with it a longing for home. It was a feeling that could easily take over her thoughts, but she would not allow herself to indulge.  _Survival, getting off the planet —_ it was there that she would devote her mental and emotional energy.

The ate the rest of their food in silence, hunger taking priority.

When they were done, Kathryn helped Colvin to some water, and then knelt next to him.

"How do you feel?"

"Like I crash-landed and barely escaped death by roaring fire."

She patted his leg, relieved that he was well enough, at least, for a bit of wry humor.

Colvin winced as she probed gently at his large torso wound. She lifted the meager dressing — what had been her uniform sleeves — and found no bleeding. (Of course, it was what might be going on beneath the skin that concerned her most.)

She washed the wound with water for good measure, and decided to leave it uncovered. There was no  _visual_  sign of abscess or infection, but many days would have to pass before he was out of danger.

His pulse was still elevated — not surprising — but his complexion did seem a slightly heartier shade today; hopefully a good sign.

Kathryn sat back on her heels and disappeared into her thoughts for a moment.

"Colvin," she said after a time, "is there anything you can tell me, about where we are?"

He shook his head slightly. "I don't know this place. We…we were taking you to Misnar. In the Obsidian realm." He paused for several breaths, laboring for more air. "I didn't think…when I put us off course… It was stupid, but I didn't think… I just wanted to delay. Long enough for you to get away…and then…" He looked at the horizon beyond her as he trailed off. "We can't…can't be too far from Casus.…the shuttle didn't get that far."

It was at the Casus Belt, where the ship had taken the heavy damage that ultimately resulted in its destruction. Upon escape, they'd engaged the shuttle's impulse drive to gain distance from the ship, but then they had lurched into and out of warp haphazardly — an unintentional maneuver that at the time Kathryn thought had been caused by a malfunction in the controls.

It had been only a few seconds at sub-light; not enough time to amass great distance from where they launched.

_"Great distance"…_

She realized she could no longer think in terms of  _Voyager_  distances — in their current state, seconds at sub-light amounted to an impossible span, and a "great distance" was across the prairie.

She'd no idea how they'd happened upon the planet — such a small target in the vastness of space.

The best explanation she'd come up with, as she'd thought about it last night, before falling asleep, was that a kind of "distress" failsafe had kicked in, whereby the shuttle had executed a course to the nearest survivable planet — though the broken-down, illy-repaired vessel was in no condition for warp travel. Had they not jumped to warp — and had they not emerged, engines failing, in the planet's upper atmosphere (not recommended even for healthy, well-equipped spacecraft) — the shuttle might still be intact. It had been in poor shape, but it  _might_  have made the trip back to Koldera, or at least somewhere… _not here…_

Kathryn shook away those thoughts. There was no use contemplating the  _what if's._

Still — she sought an explanation.

"Our jump to warp, on the shuttle…our course. Ending up here. Did the shuttle engage some kind of safety protocol, with the ship in distress?"

Colvin shook his head, looked down at his hands. "It's my fault."

"You set our course? Jumped us to warp?"

"We had a number of programs. Merv was never much of a pilot, you know." He shook his head at the memory. "If we were being trailed — if we had to get away quickly — he didn't want to have to think."

Colvin held his hand up as his speech gave way to a fit of coughing. He downed more water when his lungs calmed, and caught his breath.

"We weren't supposed to end up in the atmosphere. And I thought…well, I didn't think we'd end up some place I didn't know. I just…hit the switch. And then we didn't even have time to…the shuttle…"

Kathryn knew the rest.

It had happened so quickly.

She stared at the man who had helped to abduct her — who had planned to sell her, without a second glance.  _Who knew_  how many women he'd helped to take — how many lives he'd ruined. And when she'd given him a second chance, practically begging him to come with her to safety…

He might not have meant for it to happen, but he'd acted without consulting her.

He seemed to read her thoughts. "I'm sorry…Kathryn."

He was helpless.  _Wounded._  Unable to fetch his own food and water — soiled and bedraggled, hanging on by a tenuous thread. His massive form, which has once one-armed her up over his shoulder, carrying her like she weighed nothing, was utterly weakened. He'd not survive without Kathryn's help.

And of course, he  _had_  given her a second glance. He'd enabled her to break out of her cell — he'd thrown them off course, away from the place where she was to be… _sold._

Kathryn shifted, pulling her legs out form under her and bending them forward so that her arms could rest on her knees. Chin on her hands, she let out a deep sigh.

"Colvin — I'm used to being in charge. I'm…" She punched back the voice inside her head that almost had her speaking in the past tense. "I am captain of a starship; leader to a crew of 150. I command. I make the decisions. I have help — but  _I'm in charge."_ She stared at his face, forcing his eyes to hers. "From here on out, Colvin, I need you to consult me  _before_  you make any major decisions. Even if it  _seems_  like the right thing to do — run it by me, okay? If we're going to get out of this — off this…" she gestured around them, "this  _world —_ we have to be a team. I know it was complicated, on the ship, but now — here — _it's just us,_  and we have to work together."

Understanding seemed to flicker in his eyes, and something akin to  _relief,_  if Kathryn wasn't mistaken. He nodded lightly and she reached out a hand to his leg.

"Are you comfortable enough here?" The entryway to the shelter would be shaded for much of the day, and Kathryn saw no reason to have him move back inside. Getting part of the way out had been difficult enough.

He blinked heavily. "I'm…alright."

"I'm going to search in another direction while you rest," Kathryn said, gesturing opposite the forest. "A few hours, maybe. You'll be okay here. You just… _rest._  Rest, and heal up. I'll see what I can find, and I'll bring more food."

Kathryn made sure the water bowl was within his reach, and a piece of fruit, just in case, and then stood on the edge of their camp to take a scrutinizing look along the horizon. The prairie stretched far and wide, but in one direction — at 10 o'clock, if she stood facing out from the shelter — she'd glimpsed what appeared to be another stand of trees. Beyond that she could  _just barely_  discern what looked like low peaks, rising from the flatlands.

Though the more logical course might dictate that she explore along the forest stream, toward its source or its outlet, the rising topography in the distance, which she'd spotted yesterday — too far away for their immediate supply needs — beckoned her.

The sky remained quiet, but there still could be sentients on the planet. Maybe there was an entire settlement over there. And a change in the landscape — like the distant stretch of peaks — might bequeath new resources.  _Some native metals would be nice…_

She tied her scarf around her waist —  _it might prove useful for carrying things_  — and set off, noting the position of the sun.  _Late morning._

The tall grass was soft as her hands trailed over it. She spotted a flock of birds in the distance, heading the same way she was.

She took it as a good sign.

Reaching into the part of herself that loved to explore — was  _made_  to explore — she resolved to enjoy what she could of the day ahead.


	16. Chapter 16

She dreamed of  _Voyager_ again.

In the waking hours, she was disciplined.  _Determined._  And busy enough working to survive, that she rarely indulged in wishful thinking, or longing.

Nighttime was another matter, when she could do nothing to keep her deeper thoughts and feelings at bay. Her dreams had grown more vivid — almost as if in response to her distractedness during the day.

It wasn't entirely unwelcome, but some mornings, rising was hard.

Two weeks had passed.  _(Two weeks by this planet's clock, anyway.)_

She'd not given it a name.

The animals got names sometimes, and she'd invented a couple of constellations — among them, a long-haired maiden named Lucy, and an upside-down monkey called Ham — but the planet was simply "the planet."

By the fifth day, Colvin had improved markedly. He could stand and move about — though not terribly far between rests. He'd taken to flint-knapping stones, and on day seven he started working on a bow. Kathryn pursued cording and pelts, bone tools and containers. The phaser still worked, but they were learning to make do without it. She intended that they be prepared, for when it stopped functioning.

On the eighth day, Kathryn scouted out a new location for their camp, near the stream in the forest. She began gathering supplies for a larger shelter, and stones for a fire.

It was that evening that the fever came.

The infection hit Colvin like another crash-landing, as if the threshold between a mere brewing infestation and an all-out bacterial assault had been tripped like a switch.

With a torchlight of branch and grass, Kathryn had run to the stream for more water; returned, she'd found Colvin shivering and moaning beneath a pelt of fur.

The first seizure came in the middle of the night.

His wound showed only minimal darkening on the surface, but a close inspection revealed deep, angry streaks forking from it. He'd improved so much, it had been two days since Kathryn had laid eyes on the injury, but this was fast work.

On day eleven, Kathryn had roused to tiny beads of rain, and the light  _sizzling_ sound of drops hitting the embers of the fire she'd rebuilt in the middle of the night.

When she crawled into the shelter, death hung about the air.

Colvin had been disoriented since the fever hit, and by the ninth day, he was drifting out of sleep for brief periods during the day and night, but never quite emerging from the cloak of delirium. Kathryn no longer rose automatically during the night, when she heard him moan in pain. It was sepsis, claiming his body in full, and there was no doubt it would be fatal.

His limbs were tinged with green — blood-flow cut off or greatly reduced — and there were visible clots. His kidneys had all but completely ceased to function, his face was distended, and his heart pumped at a sprinter's cadence.

It was a torturous, drawn-out death, but as the rain picked up that morning, on the eleventh day, Kathryn had felt certain the end was near.

Helpless, she'd held Colvin's hand…and  _talked._  Stories — real and made up — random anecdotes; anything and everything, she talked until her voice felt raw. She had nothing else to offer — no medicine, nothing even to ease the pain — just the sound of her voice, her hand, as if it could affect his outcome.

He held on for another day and another night, fighting. But when Kathryn woke on day thirteen, she found that he had passed in the night.

On day fourteen, she came to slowly, reluctant to let go of the pleasant dream of home. But as always, it slipped away with the fading darkness, reality presenting itself without subtlety.

She thought she'd have the hole deep enough today, so that she could bury Colvin properly. It was hard labor with sticks and stones, but she couldn't bear to leave him unearthed, rotting, with the animals and birds having their way.

The phaser had stopped working, dying in near-tandem with Colvin, as luck would have it. She'd give a try at fixing it, but not until she was done with the grave.

She was eager to finish — eager to move camp to the stream, and to cover more ground in her exploring.

It was the thought of finding new things — new landscapes, new resources — that kept her going.

And she knew  _Voyager_ was still looking for her.

They'd figure it out.

_Someone at the bar had to have seen…_

They'd connect the dots somehow, and they'd get here.  _Soon…_

And in the meantime, she'd  _survive._

She'd do more than  _survive_  — she would carve out a functional existence, living off the land, enduring by her own skill.

She would wait, but not idly.


	17. Chapter 17

_Federation shuttlecraft Tereshkova_   


He had lost his mind.

He'd already known, of course — it was no earth-shattering revelation.

He'd known the minute he decided to leave his life — and everything in it — for a  _chance_.

An unlikely, improbable chance…

_(How could he honestly hope to accomplish what Voyager, with all its crew and resources, had not?)_

He'd known when he packed his things, and hers. When he'd said his goodbyes and boarded the shuttle.  _He was not making a rational, sensible decision._

_(They'd devoted countless man-hours to the search, exhausted every lead, no matter how tenuous, but they had failed…)_

It was a fool's errand.

He'd left his life —  _Voyager_ , and her drive toward Earth; his friends, his crew — and on his present course, he'd never return to it.

He'd thrown his life away, for a hopeless quest.

And yet…

It was the very moment he'd acquiesced, allowing the truth to come — the words, their meaning; his path, finally permitted — that he could breathe again. He'd lost his mind, thrown his life away, but  _he could go on._

He might be a fool, but the alternative was far worse.

Two days after his departure from  _Voyager_ , as he sat eating lunch (avocado and tomato on wheat), Chakotay was again reminding himself of this fact.

In the quiet hours alone on the shuttle, he'd had a lot of time to think.

Peppered among his planning, his hopes, and his determination were moments of doubt.

Never enough to make him reconsider —  _not even close_  — but there was a mourning associated with losing all he'd left behind, and if the doubts had a formidable root, it was  _there_.

He was on course for  _Kindar,_  a small spaceport moon that orbited one of the inhabited planets in the Yiltera system, nearby neighbor to Koldera Minor and its parent star.

He intended to arrive on Koldera anonymously, docking and storing the shuttle and then hopping an ordinary transport vessel bound for the icy world.

He only hoped he could manage some decent work with the dermal tools he'd brought. It didn't have to be  _too_  drastic — but enough so that he wouldn't be recognized easily.

Chakotay had become  _a bit too_   _well-known_  on Koldera, particularly after a series of his very pointed verbal threats, libeled against planetary leadership but aimed at the planet as a whole, had been broadcast far and wide.

It had not been one of his finer moments.

His threats had been empty — he wasn't going to send a barrage of photon torpedoes to work their will on the population center, after all — but they'd caused some chaos, just the same. There were evacuations, as some residents got the hell off the planet, but it wasn't long before Chakotay and his crew were the subject of a planet-wide joke.

_"The crazy man in the sky…"_

The first time he'd heard it, he thought —  _what an odd way to refer to your deity._ And then he realized.  _They mean **me** …_

His outbursts had not helped their cause. To patch things over, he'd had to step aside for a time, allowing Tuvok as the primary point of contact, and sending others to negotiate and investigate in his stead.

A hasty tape job and an overabundance of rage had seen three of his knuckles broken on the holodeck.

It was after that when he'd found a confidant in Tom, unexpectedly. He'd drawn the truth from Chakotay over drinks. By then it was not news — the nature of Chakotay's grief, much deeper and more complex than that of a first officer losing a captain, was plainly visible to those near him — but Tom had known, somehow, how important it was for Chakotay to be able to say it.

It had helped. Not in the sense of solving their problem, or mending the brokenness that had settled in Chakotay's core, but airing his truth, finding understanding and acceptance, meant a lot.

Now, the "crazy man in the sky" was a crazy man alone on a shuttlecraft, all odds against him as he traveled the wrong way from home, unable to give up or let go.

Although he was certain Kathryn had been taken off-world, he planned to settle on Koldera temporarily. He'd find work — in shipping, or security; a position where he would be privy to inside information.

They'd tried the "guns blazing" approach — he'd rained his fury down on the planet, practically ransacking the place with his bare hands in their search, to no avail. The more they had fought for information, the more they'd probed and invaded the planet and other nearby worlds, the more their path seemed to close in on itself.

This time, he planned to work quietly, from the inside.

His biggest regret was that he hadn't done it sooner.

 _Voyager_  had stayed for too long.

After a few weeks, he'd consented to shifting a number of crew to other tasks. They'd planned and executed several science missions, and engineering had experimented in-depth with alternative sub-light propulsion. The short-range expeditions turned into long-range trips, and  _Voyager_ served as more of a port — a base of operations — for both the crew involved in the search, and those employed in research and discovery.

Some good work had come from it — some real science — and they'd expanded the details of their stellar cartography. And it helped to justify their remaining long, as they continued to search for the captain well beyond the point when Starfleet protocol would have declared her  _"missing in action, presumed dead."_

Chakotay had utterly refused to change her status in the logs.  _Screw Starfleet._

The crew had grown restless after a month…two. They wouldn't say it, they wouldn't  _tell_  him, or question him — not yet — but he could tell. He'd ignored it, mostly. And ultimately, they'd given him a lot of room. They wanted her back, too, even though, for most of them, it was an easier road to letting go.

Chakotay checked his heading and the shuttle's systems — all good.

Barring any difficulties, he'd arrive at his destination in a little over 14 standard hours.

It was time to pack his bag and get ready.


	18. Chapter 18

The days were shorter than Earth's, she was nearly certain.

How odd, that there was no way to mark time in a simple, familiar way — no way to gauge the passing of an hour, or a minute, save for trying to count in her head.

In space, the cycling of days was artificial. Starfleet utilized the diurnal patterning of Earth, of course, with the ebb and flow of 24-hour days, imparting a circadian rhythm familiar to its human ranks. But planetary rotational rates — and the resulting cycling of days — vary across the galaxy. A day on Bajor is around 26 hours; on Romulus, it's closer to 25.

Kathryn was convinced that a  _day_  on this planet was shorter than 24 hours — quite possibly as many as two or three hours shorter.

It certainly wasn't that the time was just passing quickly.

_Twenty-two hours for argument's sake… 31 days… 682 hours…_

About 28 days for  _Voyager_ …

She'd hoped the math would somehow produce a different number — a smaller number — but there it was. Nearly an Earth month, here or there.

The scenarios played in her head, unbidden — a cacophony of anxiety and fear, hope and longing; a stab that hit her in the gut, as she thought of her crew, nearly a month after she was taken. (They'd stopped looking, they were still looking; they'd encountered trouble, they'd been destroyed — or they prevailed, their captain firm and steadfast, taking up where she left off…)

Had he moved them on by now?

She honestly couldn't say.

Was it selfish for her to hope?

It wasn't second nature, to  _hope_  for herself, least of all when it meant their suffering. If they lingered, every day that passed was a delay, longer spent in the Delta Quadrant instead of journeying closer to home.

_Please find me._

_Please don't waste time looking for me._

It was clear that  _finding her_  would not prove straightforward, simple, or quick.

A certain despair had welled, in the days after Colvin's death, when she was forced to acknowledge that there was no simple trail for  _Voyager_  to follow. (Or if there was, something had happened…)

She stopped her thoughts short and pulled away from the edge of that particular abyss. She would  _not_  let the anguish overtake her — she would  _survive_  and she would carry on. It was in her nature, it was in her training, and everyone she had ever known would expect nothing less.

Kathryn adjusted the crude basket hooked over her shoulder — it was woven from long grass and reeds, and she was, in fact, rather proud of it — and pressed on.

The creek was getting wider and looked now to boast a depth in the middle where she might be able to wade knee-deep. The stream up by camp came up to her ankles at best; not enough to bathe in properly and the fish that found home in its waters were small. She'd found the stream's outlet a couple of days ago in this larger waterway, and was searching now for  _its_  place of egress.

As the creek expanded (she might even call it a "river" now), the canopy seemed to thicken. Walking on, she spotted a new kind of tree, mixing in with the familiar ones, gradually taking over the stand. They were taller and wider, with large, rounded leaves and a light tan bark that seemed to peel away in thin layers. She didn't see any fruit, but as Kathryn stepped in close to inspect the new species, she realized its bark would be quite useful. It would make a good filler for her shelter's roof, would probably weave into heartier containers than the ones she'd already made, and — she felt an odd joy as she thought of this — she could probably  _write_  on it. Could perhaps even stack the bark together to make a book, in a fashion that would last; that she could carry with her.

She'd not yet worked out an ink, but it would be her next major project.

She gently peeled away several strips of the fine bark — she'd have to press it beneath some rocks, to work out its tendency to curl — and filled her basket nearly full.

Buoyed by the new discovery, her pace quickened as she continued along the water.

Now she'd have a way to keep track of her exploration. She could log the flora and fauna, the nighttime sky, and maybe even try her hand at constructing a map. And she could just  _write,_  for writing's sake!

The possibilities filled her, and she could almost  _taste_  the kind of relief she'd feel, journaling and recording — how it would be so fulfilling and so… _grounding._

She'd taken it for granted — missed terribly the written word as a form of expression.

Hell, she even missed writing reports, with all their tedium and mediocrity.

_The last one she'd produced had been on the quake and rescue operation at Koldera Minor…_

She was so lost in her thoughts about it that she did not immediately notice the sound of falling water, but when she stopped to inspect the berries on some bushes in a small grove near the creek, she heard it and her heart leapt with joy.

Sure enough, after another half-kilometer or so, she came to the top of a rocky cliffside, where the stream gave way.

It was no Angel Falls, but it was all she could do not to leap off the bank with the cascading water, dropping with it into the dark pool below.

And it was more than a "pool" — it was a lake! She couldn't even see the other edge of its shore in the distance. It was a real, bonafide body of water!

She laughed as she imagined "jumped off of a cliff in a fit of excitement" as her cause of death, and scanned for a better (and safer) way down.

The land sloped more favorably to her right, and so she took off in that direction. She made her own path along the gradually descending terrain, fighting the undergrowth that seemed to claim all of the space between rocks.

At one point she had trailed far enough from the waterfall that she could no longer hear it, but then the landscape guided her back in its direction — a little bit of ascent before winding down again — and before long, the falling stream was in full view.

The last bit was challenging, and she had to force herself to go slowly as she climbed down over jagged rocks and the twisting roots of deeply-embedded trees.

When at last she reached the bottom, she sat down on a large rock with a deep exhale, and took in the surroundings.

She scanned in all directions, looking foremost for hazards, animal or otherwise, but even as she firmly inhabited the space of Kathryn-the-explorer, going by book, she felt the stinging in her eyes as tears welled.

_It was beautiful._

She reached out to touch the water, and then, unable to restrain herself any longer, she put the basket aside and worked at peeling away her dirty, tattered clothes.

The fabric barely resembled the uniform she'd once so proudly worn, but the pang she felt as she observed its awful condition was quickly replaced by the incredible feeling of warm sunlight on her bare back.

She tossed everything onto a rock and slid down onto the edge of the pool.  _The lake!_

She sat for a moment, legs in up to her knees, and then in one quick motion, she pushed away from the shore and jumped the rest of the way in.

The utter bliss of the warm water, smooth against her skin — cradling her body in a way she'd almost forgotten she loved so much — displaced her fear of not knowing what might lurk in its depths.

She swam along the edge, toward the waterfall, pausing to catch her breath after a few meters.

After a month struggling to subsist in the wild, her body was weakened.

She was stronger in her arms, maybe, with the constant manual labor survival required, but too many pounds had slipped from her frame, and her heart and lungs struggled to propel her through the water with the vigor she'd once possessed.

It didn't matter — not even that reminder of her life  _"before"_  could spoil the unadulterated joy she felt, immersed in the serene depths of the lake.

She treaded water beneath the falls, fully embracing its long cascade as it washed over her head. She tilted back and pushed the hair away from her face — it was matted and unkempt, but the water at least felt like a shower, washing the dirt away, allowing her to forget for a moment, the state of things.

She lost track of time, swimming behind the waterfall, and out along the edge of the shore. Next she knew, the skin on her fingers was wrinkled and the sunlight was coming it at a noticeably lower angle.

 _Enough for today_ —she swam to near her entry point and pulled herself onto the shore.

The water slid down her body as she rose, pooling on the dirt, and she shivered at the breeze. But it was less a shiver of chill (it was, in fact, quite warm), and more a response to the swell of arousal that suddenly seized her. In her state of ease, her body open and unencumbered — feeling more herself than she had since arriving on the planet — it came naturally and without effort.

It was not unwelcome — and of course she was used to being alone with her desire; this was familiar.

She found a soft, mossy patch of ground not far from her pile of clothing, and sat back, welcoming the sunlight as it dried her.

Eyes closed, she took a deep breath in…out. The melody of the waterfall mingled with the breeze, and her mind along with it, wandering serenely, but not without purpose.

She decided:

If…( _when)_ …she made it back, things would change.

She would not wait to live her life.

She would not wait to love.

She would not postpone joy.

_How clear life looked, alone on this nameless world, no masks to be found..._


	19. Chapter 19

The warm season swelled, its dominion over the landscape an absolute thing, with vegetation coming to peak in a way that make the world feel simultaneously vast and close, and Kathryn settled into a routine at her camp by the lake.

She'd taken her time setting up there, gradually shifting supplies from upstream, sleeping in a temporary lean-to as she worked on her shelter. She'd spent many days harvesting new building material she'd discovered a few kilometers from the lake; it reminded her of Earth's bamboo — light but strong, easy to work with — and it had opened up a whole new world of crafting and construction.

In the end, her new shelter stood larger and sturdier than the previous two. She could stand upright in the middle, and the interior stayed dry in all but the heaviest of downpours. She'd built a raised sleeping surface, a small shelf that doubled as a table, and she'd made larger containers to store captured rainwater — all in all creating a home base that was as comfortable and functional as she could possibly hope given the circumstances. And she felt stronger and healthier, thought her ribs did not stick out as much anymore. She could swim to the waterfall now without stopping to rest.

As Kathryn sat outside the shelter — the wide summer canopy and a clear, mid-day sky spread above her — she thought about how  _thoroughly_  she was surviving now. How she could, in fact, give a pretty phenomenal seminar on the topic — much more comprehensive and informative than any Starfleet course had ever been.

_When Voyager came, she would have much to be proud of._

She was not naive. There was no particular reason to imagine  _Voyager_  would come for her now — too much time had passed. But life was more manageable —  _living_ was possible — when she allowed herself to say, to think, to believe that they would yet arrive.

And so she would, for as long as she was able. She  _had_  to.

The breeze was picking up, and even though the sky was clear, Kathryn wondered if there would be rain later. She glanced over at her bow, propped against the side of the shelter — one of her proudest creations — and decided she would hunt before the evening fell.

With a sigh, she drew her legs up and reached for one of her bark-paper journals.

There were twelve of them now, and their very weight, shape and form grounded her, made her feel less alone.

They had titles like  _Plant Life, Physical Geography,_ and  _Astronomical Observations._  There was one devoted to tools and equipment, where she wrote and sketched what she had tried making, and what had worked, if anything. In another, she penned bits of literature, trying to recall lines from her favorites, sometimes writing her own snippets.

It had taken some time to perfect the ink — and she'd been so eager to write that in the beginning, she'd resorted to scratching out sentences with a stick — but once she found the right combination of roots and plants, there was no stopping her prolific journaling.

The book she held now was a catch-all for narrative and personal writing; in her lightest moments, she affectionately called it her personal log.

She opened to a blank page and spread the book across her lap; she stirred the ink, submerged the tip of the quill — one of many she'd made from the feathers of large waterfowl.

She didn't want to write "Day 67," but she had to — it was in her nature to keep track. And she knew she had to mind the seasons. That eventually (sooner than she would like), she would have to move south. At her present latitude — just shy of 64 degrees, she knew, thanks to her sky charting — winter would not be gentle.

As she thought about the inevitable decline of summer — felt the jab of anxiety she always felt when she considered its end — she absently ran her fingers along the knitted length of fabric draped around her shoulders.

Her scarf — she always wore it, if not around her neck then tied around her waist. It was practical, after all — useful for carrying fruit or a bundle of sticks. But more than that, it was a connection to home.

A connection to…

_…a part of her life she hadn't fully appreciated._

To…a feeling —  _a warmth._

It was…

… _shelter, unconditional._

… _faith, luminescent._

She was not one for false hope or blind belief, but, just as she allowed herself the idea that  _Voyager_  would yet come, she held tightly to those feelings — to that connection.

It was all gone, of course — ripped away. And beneath every thought of what she had lost loomed a melancholy that would claim her if she let it.

But instead of pushing her into darkness, that  _warmth_  bolstered her heart. That  _shelter_  sustained her. Strengthened her.

Somehow, even now, alone, she could still remember what it felt like, to  _breathe,_ to dwell, in that shared space where her heart and soul felt serene _._ Where she had…

(She hesitated —  _some habits are long and hard unlearned.)_

It was love, of course.  _Devotion._ She'd had both in spades and more.

Now she had…memories. The  _warmth_  she could conjure even when the nights were cool.  _The knitted strip of fabric._

They were everything now.

Drawing pen to paper, she wrote what came to mind suddenly. It was part of a poem, by a late-twentieth-century Earth author.

_Arch inverted: white peony  
and stamens, yellow. Center  
of the body. Imagines._   
_Who is absent._

* * *

It was evening when she felt it, undeniable.

Maybe it had been there for a while, and she was just now acknowledging it, but suddenly it was unmistakeable, and it gave her long, quiet pause.

She thought of the wildflowers gone to seed, and the very subtle deepening in the green hues of the trees. She thought of the birds, their increased activity, and the land animals, their different wanderings during the day.

And now, on the breeze, there was a palpable chill.  _Different._

She could no longer ignore the summer's fading.

And she knew — she'd stayed too long, by her beautiful lake.

_(Had she been in denial, unable to fully acknowledge that winter would have its day?)_

It hardly mattered now; it was time. She had to move south.

A disquiet settled in her core at the reality of it. Looking out over the water, she wondered if her shelter here could be enough. If she could store enough food, keep enough wood.

But as sure as the thought  _(the wish)_  had come, occupying her mind, nature answered with an nighttime storm that tore at the very walls that had beckoned her into feeling secure.

Huddled in one corner, clutching her woven blanket, her scarf, journals at her side, the nameless world unleashed its natural fury. Pressure gradients, a clash of air masses — it had nothing to do with her, but as the rain seeped in through the walls, and the wind threatened at the shelter's very foundation, it felt like mutiny.

Soon she felt the rain. She shifted about, trying to find a dry spot, drawing journals to her chest and pushing the rest along the floor. In the end she covered them with the blanket.

When lightning flashed, she could see the breaks in the walls. Holes, invading all windward points of structural weakness, creating new vulnerabilities as the wood broke away.

The night lasted for a year, the storm eternal, and when the dawn finally broke behind the remaining puffs of rain cloud, the air was crisp and cold.

Kathryn flipped apart the pieces of her bed, digging beneath them for the animal skins she'd harvested earlier in the season. She hated them, the stench of decay she could not wash out, but she draped them about her eagerly now. Tied them close with cords of sinew.

How much could she carry?

She gathered all items of importance, inventorying, trying different methods of packing into containers.

By late morning, as the clouds moved away and the sun rose higher, there was some warmth, and it helped her feel alert. Her head more clear.

Her bow, stone knives, the dead phaser she'd stripped for parts, had been attempting to build into something useful, a pair of gourd bowls, cording, the stone hammer, the handful of metallic rocks she'd found — she stuffed it all into a basket she'd rigged to strap to her back.

Sadly, she turned to her journals; she could not take them all.

In the end, it was just three that she packed away, in another basket that she strapped cross-body.

For no good or sensible reason, she tied the rest of them together in a stack and tucked it into the crook of a large, dead tree near the lake. It felt better, somehow, then just leaving them out in the open.

A last look around, and a heavy heart, Kathryn headed away from camp, and the lake, in the direction she knew to be south.

It was day 78.


	20. Chapter 20

**  
** _Koldera Minor_

"Where's your army?"

_"Excuse me?"_

Chakotay looked up from his drink to the narrowed eyes of a tall, sharply-dressed man. Middle-aged, lean, and appearing completely sure of himself, he was not Kolderan. A twin set of narrow ridges lined the sides of his face; they creased near his cheekbones when he chuckled and pressed his lips together in a tight smile.

Foregoing invitation, the man slipped into the booth across from Chakotay, folded his hands on the table and regarded his new table mate.

It might have been half of a minute that passed, before the man spoke.

"You know, you could have tried a  _little_  harder."

Chakotay palmed his glass absently, furrowed his brow. "I don't know what you —"

The man gestured to his own face. "It's not  _bad,_ mind, but were you really imagining you'd not be recognized?"

Chakotay reflexively drew away from the table, sitting back against the booth — an unintended posture of weakness — more than a little thrown. He'd been planetside for nearly a week and no one had said a word to question his identity. He'd just begun to feel comfortable, convinced his anonymity was secure…

"I'm not sure I —"

The man laughed from deep within his chest and Chakotay suddenly felt like he was losing at a card game he couldn't even name. He watched as the stranger shook his head, clearly quite entertained.

"You spent a lot of time here, but it seems you didn't learn much." He gestured to a waiter, requested his "usual," and "another" for his "friend," turned back to Chakotay without missing a beat. "This is a port, a hub, foremost — life  _moves._  In, out, through…"

The man appeared devoid of doubt and one-hundred-percent in charge of the very air he breathed, but — Chakotay realized as he collected himself — he did not seem particularly threatening, at least not in a physical sense. Some of the tension that had seized Chakotay's frame evaporated when he allowed himself that, worst case, he could probably pound the man into the floor without much trouble.

Breathing with that thought for a moment, Chakotay sipped his drink and feigned lack of concern. Inquired,  _"is there something you want?"_

"Well, good. I'm glad we've gotten that out of the way! You know that I know who you are. We can move on." He grinned widely, all teeth and folded facial ridges, and Chakotay wondered if the man was ever  _not_  overly pleased with himself.

The drinks arrived, and as Chakotay watched the man happily down a hearty portion of his, he considered the value of continuing to play dumb versus the possibility that this stranger — knowledgeable as he seemed to be — might be able help him.

He pulled his new glass over, and played a card. "I've been here for several days, and no one's recognized me."

_That laugh again._

"No one's recognized you, or no one's cared enough to mention it?"

He'd not even considered that possibility — felt for a moment that he'd just called for a hit on a king and a jack.  _Had he really been dumb enough to assume he was getting away with it?_

The man seemed to sense his distress. "Don't worry about it. Really. I'm a particularly  _skilled_  observer of people — helps immensely in my business. And besides, the part about no one caring who you are, or were, if they figure it out?" He waved his hand about, seeming to gesture to the room at large. "I didn't just make that up. The more important thing for folks around here — much more important than whether or not your face has a couple of bumps on it — is that you're not trampling about the place with your soldiers, or threatening to blow everyone to a early grave from your mighty ship in the sky." He flipped his hand above his head, presumably gesturing to the sky, before lowering it to flap at Chakotay. "I don't blame you for the attempt to hide, and, you know, it's probably better — easier — if it takes more than a glance and a thought to realize you're  _that guy."_

Chakotay fingered his cranial ridges without really meaning to, feeling rather foolish for having thought he'd done a good job. The past week spun in his head — the places he'd gone, the people he'd encountered. Had anyone else recognized him?

Did it matter?

"Who are you, and what do you want?"

He spoke more angrily than he meant to — a reaction, he supposed, to feeling like an idiot.

The man seemed unaffected. "Karath T'mal," he said, tilting his head as if tipping a hat. "Purveyor of fine desirables and rare effects."

One question answered, and now Chakotay could probably guess at the other, and it was something for which he didn't have the patience.

"I've no need for  _fine desirables,_  or whatever you call them. I'm just here looking for a friend."

"Right. The same one, I assume?" He paused for a beat, eyebrows raised. "Yes, I'm sorry that you didn't find her." And then, in case there was any doubt as to who had the better hand, he pointed over to the bar. "She was sitting right there when I saw her on that day, having a great time from what I could tell."

Chakotay's heart leapt against his chest with a wild, rousing  _thump_.

"You…you were here when…"  _(Fold.)_  "You saw her?"

"Lovely woman," he said, nodding. "I bought her a drink, she said she was waiting for someone. Told me she was in the field of  _exploration and research,_  when I asked."

"You…talked to her?"

"Don't look so surprised. A lot of people talked to her. Woman like that has a real  _presence,_ you know? Draws people in." He studied Chakotay's face. "You the one she was waiting for?"

Reluctantly — sadly — Chakotay nodded.

"And how long've you loved her?"

Chakotay balked and picked up his drink, held it protectively in front of his face. "What do you care?"

 _That smile again._ "Oh, I don't  _care_  as such, really. It's just — like I said — I'm an  _astute_  observer of people. Pride myself on figuring them out. Not that you're that hard — I mean, why  _else_  are you back here after your ship took off, looking like you've been through the ringer and then some?"

Not eager to share the details, nor feeling particularly trusting at the moment, Chakotay closed a fist around the back-up story he'd invented while on the shuttle. "They got rid of me. Not mutiny, quite, but they didn't like the way I was running things, so I was ousted."

T'mal's loud chuckle turned a couple of heads nearby. "Can't say I'm surprised….no offense." Chakotay watched as the man swirled what remained of his drink and then finished it off. "So how'd you get back here? Come on another one of your ships?" A beat, glass back onto the table with a  _clink_. Business again.

"I hitched a ride."  _Not a complete lie._

Resting his chin on a fist,  _Karath T'mal_  regarded Chakotay, who didn't flinch under the scrutinizing gaze, despite his discomfort.

After a moment, T'mal sat back up and sighed — but it wasn't a sigh of irritation.

"You know, I'll cut right to it. I like you. You were entertaining there for a while — well, when you weren't trying to kill us all." He snickered in lieu of laughing, but so much had Chakotay been expecting the deep cackling, he heard it in his head, anyway. "Really, I respect your drive. And I know what I would do for the love of my life. All of that and more."

Chakotay almost interrupted, almost said  _she's just a friend,_  but what was the point of holding to that old habit of denial? Ignoring the other subject T'mal was no-doubt driving at, Chakotay glared at him intensely, unwilling to cede any ground. "So you saw her, you talked to her. Who took her?"

"That I cannot answer, but I have resources. Avenues that weren't available to you and your lot. I might be able to help you find out… First, though, I must say, it was quite a display, after the quake. You and your soldiers, really brave. And your  _technology_. Impressive."

Chakotay sighed, having known from his introduction that  _this_  was what the man was about; it soured his mood even further.

"Like I said, I hitched a ride. They left me at a spaceport." Implied: he hadn't a ship; left open: he might have desirable technology in his possession, just the same.

T'mal, astute observer of people, wrinkled his brow, his face darkened by what was perhaps just a  _hint_  of disappointment, but he also didn't miss the noncommittal nature of Chakotay's response.

Watching T'mal's face, Chakotay warmed up to the game a little bit. "What was it you were interested in, anyway?"

Truth be told, Chakotay would happily hand over the whole damn shuttlecraft — currently tucked way in a neighboring planetary system — if it meant getting Kathryn back.

"I don't know what it's called, but you used it to move people out from under the rubble. It was quite amazing. Magic, to some eyes."

"The transporters."

"Okay, yeah.  _The transporters._  I've got some very high-profile clients who would give numerous internal organs for that kind of tech. But you people seem to be the only ones who have it, or know about it."

"Plenty of people have it where I'm from," Chakotay said, picking up his cards, shuffling them around. "And I  _might_  be able to help you get ahold of it. But I'm going to be honest, I don't give two fucks what clients want what, or what kind of financial gains you might offer up in the end. I'm not here for any of that, and frankly,  _I hate this place._ You're disorganized, reckless, loose with your laws, and either unfortunate or just plain stupid with your choice of elected leadership. I'm here for  _one reason_  and one reason alone, and I will not hesitate to participate in your  _lawlessness,_ should you or anyone else see fit to jerk me around. I'm  _done_  being jerked around."

His right hand had clenched into a raised fist; he sighed and loosened it, allowed the anger to dissipate (it came so easily, still). "I…just want my captain back." He hadn't necessarily meant to say the last part out loud, but T'mal's expression shifted from one of mild concern to one of sympathy as he did.

"I know. I mean, good to know about the money, officially — it moves most men, and even though I didn't really think it would play here, it's good to know for sure. As for the rest of it — well, it's like I said. I could have told you the rest of your story, just based on the way you were sitting here, alone with your drink."

It was Chakotay's turn to laugh, though it was brief and didn't turn any heads.

"And you know," T'mal said as he gestured for the waiter. "I'm a sucker for a great love story."

 _Not exactly a love story,_  Chakotay thought, but he didn't bother correcting him.

T'mal ordered another drink and then they sat silent for a moment, the clack of colliding pool balls (or whatever they were called here, in the similar-looking game) offering bits of punctuation to his thoughts as Chakotay considered how to play this _._  In truth, he'd no intention of simply handing over the shuttle's transporter. If it meant something definitive about Kathryn…finding her, or…

It would have to be a last resort.

Could he make some headway with bits and pieces of the schematics?

It was going to be tricky to navigate, but that's why he was here, right?

_One step at a time._

"Let's start with that night, when you encountered my captain. I want to know everything."


	21. Chapter 21

Under different circumstances, the routine of Kathryn's southerly migration might be comforting.

Every day there was something very specific to accomplish — cover as much ground as possible, shelter, rest, survive — and the passing, changing landscape offered much to occupy her thoughts.

When she did not allow herself to dwell on the bigger picture, it was a mode of living in which she could function well enough.

But as she (and time) moved, the nights were getting harder, and  _the bigger picture_  more challenging to ignore.

Part of it was the now-firm grip of the autumnal season. Mercurial teases of warmth regularly gave way to invasions of wind and precipitation from the north; a frequent reminder of winter's inevitability.

Even many dozen kilometers south of the lake where she'd spent the bounteous season, the nighttime chill signaled summer's near full surrender. The harsh reality of its fading meant Kathryn spent many nights unable to find or sustain warmth.

She didn't know enough about the planet — its position relative to its parent star, or that star's spectral classification — to calculate the length and nature of the seasons. She knew nothing of the global ocean-atmosphere circulation, or any of the large-scale, oft-coupled systems that drove a planet's climate. There were far too many variables to guess at what was to come, and these thoughts quickened her steps during the day.

It was easy to imagine how early humanoids on countless worlds had invented Gods, myths and legends to explain nature's power. Were she aboard  _Voyager,_  it would take all of a few minutes to answer the many geophysical unknowns that now painted her future so uncertain.

Alone on the planet, with only primitive tools at her disposal, the answers were out-of-reach.

* * *

With the light of day deepening toward its last, shadows long, Kathryn made camp beneath a stand of low trees not far from a stream.

She'd been at it for nearly three weeks, and it was without much thought that she unloaded her belongings and unhitched the tools she needed.

The pride she had once felt, in her many, daily acts of survival, had faded; her actions were now mostly repetition, purpose muddied in the monotony of it all.

She gathered tree branches, and labored hard to split some larger logs from a thick, fallen limb, working at it with a stone, and then a hafted antler she'd fashioned into a cutting tool.

The sun set as she was piling the wood, and the evening chill settled in. Thankfully the brush she'd lain as kindling was dry enough and the fire started easily, a welcome flare of warmth.

She knew she was hungry, but it had become too familiar a feeling to arouse any sort of urgency; rather, it was just another part of the routine.  _Find food, eat._

Tonight's meal would be fish, and she grabbed one easily from the stream with her small, sinewy net.

A couple of times recently, she'd managed to catch one with her bare hands, a surprising skill she would continue to hone in case animals became scarce and the harvesting and drying of sinew no longer possible. Water weakened the material over time, and so her net would not last indefinitely.

It was a gruesome undertaking, extracting the animal tendons, but they formed the strongest roping material she had. And having spent the better part of her life facing down difficult tasks with grit and resolve, she did not shirk from the gutting and pulling apart of the creatures she captured, even as her stomach still sometimes turned, and she had learned to harvest every useful substance.

The winds were calm, the sky clear, and she guessed no rain tonight. She'd been bitten by that assumption before, but she was tired; seated by the fire, and glancing at the thick, stocky branches around her, she decided to made do without a lean-to. It meant a certain vulnerability as she slept, but a break from the physical labor of building a shelter was welcome. And maybe she would stay warmer on a night like this, sleeping right next to the fire. She willed the logs to catch, knowing they were damp inside.

She had to think strategically about her stops. Pass up a hearty offering of good wood in the name of covering more ground, and risk meeting darkness and harsh weather where supplies were scarce or difficult to obtain; make a habit of stopping too early, and risk failing to outrun winter's eager tendrils.

The night was like any other as of late, but as Kathryn laid the fish to cook over the fire, quiet darkness falling from above, she realized suddenly that tomorrow would mark her one-hundredth day on the planet.

It was meaningless — just a number, rooted in the planet's particular rate of rotation — but as she drew in her next breath, a new, shadowy melancholy seemed to invade her lungs and settle there, quietly. Threatening from within.

_Meaningless_ , she said aloud — to the trees, to the sky.

_The sky._

Even with the glow of the fire, and the still-lingering brush of twilight, Kathryn could see the brightest stars above.

Freed now from the hazy curtain of summertime humidity, the night sky of the waning season was a wonder to behold, and a comfort in the cold night — for while the stars and sky objects were poignant symbols of all she had lost, they also permitted her fantasies, allowed her illogical hopes. There, she found an indulgent escaping she once would not have allowed but now so desperately needed; one more battlefront where she fought with the ever-creeping hum, persistent and baneful, that said:  _"Why bother?"_

She heard it sometimes when she searched for food. And when she gathered water, or pressed forward over difficult terrain. In those moments, it was a sorrowful, aching loneliness that filled her, thieving her fire and crushing her will.

_Giving up_  was not in her nature, but neither was living in solitude.

_Keep going… Keep moving…_

The words would play in her head during the day, an endless refrain pitted against everything that bid she do otherwise — rhythmic and sometimes distracting enough.

Then she would stop, shelter — build a fire, settle in — and the stillness would fill her her.

But some nights, as on the 99th one she spent beneath odd, stout trees, the stars of the galaxy would unfurl above her, revealing the very essence of so much that still gave her life.

It felt at times that all of her heart and soul were out there — somewhere — bonded in dreams waking and not to those she had lost. Her crew…her friends… _her family._

_And…_

Hardest of all,  _that_  ' _and'…_

The fire crackled, sending glowing embers upwards — water vaporized, escaping from inner crevices. It would be like that for a while, but she was lucky; the logs were catching.

After she ate the fish — ungracefully, the mess of the thing left scattered some distance from her camp where she consumed it, not wanting to draw animals near when she slept — she sat back beside the fire, skin and fur blankets drawn close, soft, weathered scarf around her shoulders.

Often, when her evening tasks were complete, Kathryn would drift off, weary from the day of hiking and laboring, her mind feeling a separate thing from her body, heavy and unfocused.

But on this night, her mind was as sharp and crisp as the sky above, and sleep not fast at hand.

She thought over her day's progress, the particular changes in the landscape, and what that might mean in terms of climate zone. She reviewed the day in the fashion of a mission report, even while at the same time she knew it had little purpose.

She'd not written much lately, and in fact carried now only two of her original journals. She'd probably shed another soon; she seemed to carry less and less with her as the days wore on.

She spotted "Planet 2," which she'd tracked against the stars many weeks ago. Bright — probably a neighbor, or maybe a gas giant.

Tomorrow if the weather was fair, she'd hike hard. She was closing in on what appeared to be a mountain range, likely to slow her progress. She'd push herself before then, gain as much ground as she could.

Another sharp crack from the fire jolted her gaze back downward from the sky. A wave of warmth seemed to accompany the noise, and Kathryn closed her eyes, welcoming it.

_Join me…_

The voice in her head, unbidden, but unsurprising — a haunting echo she used to push away.

Now, alone — so very alone — she drew the memories to her being, clutched at them as she did her animal skins, breathing their warmth — their very essence a respite, a beacon amid darkness that gave her reason to go forward. If she could just live  _there,_ for a little while, the night would pass...

Traversing space and time, beckoning her to better days, begging her to meld with unreality — to believe, for just right now — the stirring, astral reels of memory soared from depth _._

There was…the pull of a bicep, sunlight casting highlight and shadow over its contours; contracting, relaxing. Hands working soil.

Their amused, dirty brush against her cheek…

( _Join me…_ )

And the warmth, as he drew her fingers into the dirt for the first time, and a gardener she became.

The stolen moments she couldn't help then but to claim — watching, hidden from view, as forearms tightened, arms labored.  _Building_. Always  _making._  And offering — always offering. Ready to take her into the whole of him. Inviting her into the warmth she'd somehow thought would always be there. Arms she wished enfolded her now.

_Laughter._

Shoulders broad and firm — fearless, accepting. Bearing weight unconditionally, offering to carry all. The water, shining in the light of a moon, sliding from him as he rose from the river — and the thumping of her pulse when he floated onto his back, looking up at the sky, unaware of her observing.

( _Join me…_ )

Simple — always so.  _And yet…_

A hand, reaching out, helping her off the bank. The water was chilly, but she was on fire.

In her mind, a different ending, where she did not swim off in her own direction, retreating from him, from the burning in her core. Where she did not assume she had all the time in the world, or that she'd find the solution to get them back home, or that the safety of a distant, manageable love was something worth clinging to. Now, she went to him. Revealed herself fully, reaching out, claiming the moment as one of truth, like it was all they had — because, as it turned out it was. In the knowing of today, there,  _then,_  in that wide river, she was wild and free, living from the most authentic part of her being.

Arms,  _his arms,_  around her, holding her against him, treading the depth with both of them, keeping them afloat. And his lips against hers, hungry — his touches coming with an ease unexpected, as if this was simply the right thing, the true thing.

And when he swam them back to the bank, lifted her to the edge, and drew himself up and above her, there was nothing else. Their wanting was of a strength they'd never known before, and they drew together in a beautiful, savage ecstasy, knowing that  _this_  was the right of things…

The crackling fire threatened to bring her back, but she fought. Tucked deeper into her animal skins, and willed her bittersweet memories, real and not, to carry her into sleep.

* * *

Too many light-years away, Chakotay sat in Kathryn's  _Voyager_  quarters, a closed book on his lap he'd yet to open. Probably wouldn't, but it was  _hers_ , and somehow just holding it, in her space, sitting below her window, he felt a desperately-needed strength coursing into his veins.

He stared out the window, at the nameless expanse of space, and she filled his thoughts.

_I will find you,_  he said out loud, his voice a whisper.

The stars had no response.


	22. Chapter 22

Steeling herself against the icy wind, Kathryn pressed on — up. For not the first time, doubts nagged, vying for validation.

She'd had no illusions that crossing the mountains would be a simple undertaking, even as she was awed by their beauty while hiking across the plain — even though they practically begged to be crested, explored. But the trek up into the higher elevations had proven much more arduous than even her more pessimistic side had imagined.

All of the ways her life, her survival on the planet, had been hard were amplified — multiplied — by the sharp, towering piles of rock that blocked her way south.

She was propelled forward, slowly, by the weak hope that what lay beyond might be better. Warmer, richer.

Of course, the was no _real_ reason to believe it would be, other than the fact that mountain ranges often marked a boundary between climate regions, and that south, toward the equator, was the direction of a more favorable climate. The continent could end just beyond the peaks, though — an ocean before her instead of more land. And of course it was possible this planet had no landmasses in its lower latitudes. The land could be scarce and spread out. She'd no way of knowing for certain; since their "approach" to the planet had been from the northern pole, and given the crisis they were enduring at the time, she'd not had a sweeping view of the planet.

It was possible her best course of action was to return to the plain — or even the lake. Ride out the winter, catch and store as much food as she could before it became desperately scarce.

But, as hard as the going had become, she couldn't shake the _chance_ , the _possibility_ , that if she could _just clear this range,_ her circumstances would improve.

Not to mention the fact that she was still an explorer at heart. A weakened, bedraggled explorer, but her _soul_ was still intact, and somewhere inside of her, even as the loneliness and isolation threatened to claim what equanimity she still had left, she longed for — sought — that _feeling_. Somewhere, she was still the woman who had lived to stand on the bridge of a starship and call for a heading into the unknown; to feel the engines pulsing to life, beating with possibility.

She knew she'd spent too much time in place over the summer, and regrets streamed with the wintery wind. But it was hard to completely begrudge her time at the lake, for that was when she had constructed tools, innovating and working the resources at her disposal. When she'd charted the sky and documented her observations of the biota. And when she'd written, sometimes long, cathartic pieces that delved into poetry when she was most captured by her inner thoughts.

And she'd regained her strength, forged her survival with her tenacity and grit. It had been _satisfying…_ as much as it could be, given the circumstances.

She might be losing what was left of it all, but at least she'd had the summer — and somewhere, she carried the faint hope that she would find that warmth again.

She struggled now to find food, the debate ringing again in her head, but she'd come too far to turn back (or at least that's what she settled on, to quash the vacillating that threatened to undo her).

Darker thoughts were waiting, though, ready to fill time and space when her mind ceased its preoccupation with her decided course — and they came in force as she made camp just inside a small, rocky cave.

Hungry and a bit light-headed, she sat by her small fire — tired but restless — and as her mind wandered, she had little defense left to ward off the hopelessness that found freedom in such a quiet, still moment of the night.

_I'm going to die here._

When the thought came — when it ceased to be just a casual possibility (for anyone could die, anywhere, at any time), and cemented itself as an inexorable, palpable reality, as plain and inescapable as the results of a well-constructed scientific experiment — she felt an immense, paralyzing sorrow.

She drew her legs and arms more tightly against her body, and before she could fight it — before she could shore herself up against the crushing weight of it — the tears came, welling quietly and then, quickly, spilling over into a flood.

She sobbed, shaking, inconsolable in a way she hadn't been in so very long. Or ever. She wasn't sure.

Without permission, her mind pulled from memory what was probably the last time she had wept so profoundly, when, as now, the tears had emanated from the deepest part of her being. _Tau Ceti Prime_ was a fuzzy image — even the faces of Justin and her father had clouded over time — but none of the events of that day would ever completely fade.

It hadn't been there, though, on that icy planet, when she'd broken down — nor was it even at the funerals. It was months later, when she was forced to confront the trauma of her experience, the depth of her loss. When she could no longer fight against her grief with denial and numbness.

And maybe that's what this was, too. Maybe the mountains had conspired to take the last of her aplomb, and the full impact of the isolation, the time that had elapsed, the daily struggle to survive that had grown tougher, could no longer be held at bay.

Maybe she was starting to mourn what felt now like the certain loss of her life as she had known it.

Death carried no specificity as she wept, though the mountains offered plenty of ways (…starvation, hypothermia, a rocky fall, the hungry jaws of some lurking creature…) — it was the fact that it was going to be _here_ , on this planet, away from everything and everyone she'd ever loved; she was going to die alone, on this world she'd not even named.

She realized, she'd _never_ felt this kind of hopelessness before. Losing Justin and her father was different.

And she hadn't ever felt like this on _Voyager,_ even with all of the harrowing things they'd faced. _(_ Kazon, Borg, countless interspace phenomena that had torn at the very fabric of their existence, and still, she'd never fully and completely believed she wouldn't make it through — that they wouldn't somehow prevail, even when the odds were stacked impossibly against them.)

But that was when _faith_ had been part of her job, when she'd simply _had_ to believe — to assert, to _will —_ that they would make it. That they'd get home.

It was easier, when she had to set the tone for everyone else — when there was no other choice.

Not that it was ever _easy_ , but it had been necessary. _Duty._

Alone — cold and run-down, malnourished and weak — the faith and confidence that had once been as much a part of her as her own limbs, felt distant and impossible to muster.

When at last her sobs dwindled, and the tears dried, she felt utterly spent. She curled up beneath her animal skins, dirty, soft scarf pressed against her cheek, and let sleep claim her.

* * *

In the clear morning light, she thought that maybe her tears, her breakdown, had done her some good. She felt…well, she wasn't sure what, exactly, but — better than last night.

She packed up and moved on, hoping against hope that she would find an animal she could take with her bow — something.

She wasn't sure if it was more routine and the way mornings always beckoned one forward that drove her now, or if she had actually released some difficult, pent up emotions last night, and was as renewed and purposeful as she possibly could be under the circumstances, but regardless (and did it really matter?), she went.

She didn't feel particularly _hopeful_ — she had not cried herself back into strength and optimism, of course — but she was at least compelled to press on.

It was two days later, when the illness came _._

It hit suddenly, pain and fever gripping her like a vice as she suddenly found herself doubled-over, heaving and retching the near-nothingness that was in her stomach.

She had to back-track, stumbling, weak, to the last cave where she'd slept, and as her body fought to purge whatever poison had invaded, she understood, with a desperate, helpless certainty that death _did_ now have specificity.

There was no more musing on it, no composing last words or thoughts — there was only the fever and the pain as the illness became the entirety of the world.

Her mind was addled, muddied, as she grew sicker, but as darkness fell on that first night, a clear, lifelike image of her mother filled her head, unbidden. The elder Janeway offered intangible and unreachable comfort — a serenity too distant, too lost, to touch — and Kathryn's heart broke, knowing the safe haven of her youth was unavailingly out-of-reach.

The days and nights blurred together and the weather outside the cave seemed to crescendo along with her agony. She'd no idea what it was that had sickened her, but it was hell-bent on destroying her slowly; a long, torturous annihilation, punctuated by violent bursts when she could not imagine her body actually had anything more to surrender (and yet, more would come).

Somewhere in her mind, a voice, distant and deep, told her not to give up, but it was delirious. It wasn't a choice — she had no power here. There was nothing that her once-fiery will could accomplish, even if she did still have it. The illness was simply consuming her, and it would have its way.

The hallucinations grew more vivid, swirling in wild, bright color as her body continued to weaken. She was falling, diminishing, and the sad truth was: it didn't matter to her anymore, that death was at hand.

She began to slip from consciousness, and as the world faded at last, she saw a shadow at the cave's entrance. Behind, its owner — something… _alive…_

It was large, imposing, but as it entered the cave it shrank somewhat, its menacing girth having been more a product of light and shadow.

When suddenly it was right next to her, sinking down onto the cold ground, its head elevated, looking at her, she felt a surprising lack of terror. She felt something in her just… _letting go…_ as her fingers found the soft fur, and when the creature, which she realized was a wolf, snuggled against her, it muzzle pressed against her neck.

It was the last thing she felt before the darkness overcame her fully.

* * *

Days later, she became aware of the wolf again — felt it more as a sudden lack of warmth as it rose and moved away, fur brushing her fingertips as she reached out — but when she opened her eyes to look at it, there was only the wind, streaming in from the cave's opening.

She felt an intense discomfort in her throat — it was swollen and parched, and when she fixated on the feeling, her thirst was overwhelming.

But…none of this made sense — _thirst, wind, outside…_

She was…

She struggled to wrap her mind around it.

_How?_

Her awareness expanded, and she registered the fullness of her surroundings. _The cave._

It was real and all around her, and she coughed at the close, sickly air that filled her lungs when the breeze suddenly waned.

Light streamed from the opening, and tiny, crystalline flakes fluttered in, aimless.

_She was not dead._

She felt a sudden, immense chill, as if she were finally, fully jerked back into reality — into the land of the living.

_She was alive._

Her coverings were scattered about, no-doubt tossed away in her throes of fever and delirium, and although she had thought upon her first stay that the cave was warmed slightly by some kind of internal spring, without a fire now the air was sharp and raw.

But _she was not dead._

No — but when she went to sit up, she found that she couldn't.

Undernourished going in, the sickness had greedily consumed every ounce of her remaining strength.

She managed to roll onto her side, shaking with weakness, and she knew she would have to crawl to get out of the cave.

It was a slow, laborious process, pulling herself along the floor and gathering her belongings as best she could — most importantly her animal skins. Her scarf, which was still wrapped around her neck.

When she finally emerged, warm sunlight hit her face along with the cold air; she breathed deeply in the contrast, welcoming fresh, new oxygen.

_She was alive._

The sky was a deep cerulean, peppered with broad puffs of cloud that looked dark against the sunlight. Flurries abound.

The crisp air was cleansing, but of course it did not replenish her weakened body. The dehydration was most troubling…

…and, she realized suddenly, by far the easiest problem to solve, for there were tiny patches of snow scattered about the cliffside, having accumulated lightly, lingering in the shadows of rocks. Immediately she grabbed at the nearest bit, her motion almost primal (and would have been, if not for her weakened state). It was fresh, cold salvation so intense that she cried out in relief.

Crawling from one small patch of snow to the next, Kathryn drew sweet hydration into her body. She forced herself to slow down, but each draught was deliverance — laughing tearfully through her pain, she thought about how she could do this all day. She'd never been so happy to see, touch, and taste snow.

After a time, she pulled herself up to a sitting position, and leaned back against a large rock-face. She allowed herself a moment — to sit, to breathe, and to revel in her buoyed spirit — but she knew the matter of food was a pressing priority.

And, she had to get out of the mountains.

But...she would.

She would crawl down if she had to.

* * *

He was plagued by nightmares now, and sleep had become illusive — troubled when it did come.

Sometimes, they avoided his eyes when they passed him in the corridor. A mumbled greeting, maybe, but evasion, otherwise — he had become a rouge thing, an interloper among his own people, his own crew. His singular devotion to _one thing alone_ had made him reckless, and even some of his closest friends weren't sure anymore, who he was.

_Nothing_ , he answered their silent question. _Nothing now._

Clearly he was _nothing_ to the Kolderans, who seemed now to mock him, regard him as some kind of bizarre entertainment. He had half a mind to blow the planet out of existence, regardless of anything else, but he knew, as they knew, that he could not.

He'd lost his captain and his credibility. He was… _the worst of the worst._

In a twisted fantasy, he imagined himself before a Starfleet Board of Inquiry, confessing all of his failures, bidding they hang him for his utter ineptitude.

His right hand throbbed and he flexed his fingers — knuckles bruised and still bloody.

He sighed. His outbursts weren't helping anything or anyone, even if it was just a wall that had taken the brunt of this latest.

And he thought — _what would Kathryn say if she saw me like this?_

He imagined her sympathy at the same time he imagined her reproach. _You have to lead them now,_ she would say sternly. _You have to hold it together._

_I can't do it alone._

_You're not alone…_

Words he'd said more often to her over the years, when they echoed in _her voice,_ in his head, the welling in his eyes was immediate. Somehow, he still drew strength from her, even as his heart felt shattered.

And the cold truth of it: he _was_ alone. Never quite so much as now, even surrounded by over a hundred crewmates. He may carry her with him — and he always would, they were right about that — but without answers, without knowing what had happened, her memory, her presence, would always be accompanied by guilt and heartbreak and the terrible, sinking feeling that he had abandoned her.

Harry Kim's voice interrupted his thoughts. He was late, and without waiting for further comment, he tapped his combadge and said, simply: "On my way."

They were giving him a lot of latitude, and they were putting their all into the search, but he knew they were getting restless.

When he entered the conference room, conversation instantly ceased — a phenomenon he'd become quite used to lately, and promptly ignored. As he took his seat, more than one set of eyes glanced toward his hand, and then quickly away when they saw him notice. _Nothing to discuss here._

"Report."

"Beta team is due back in one hour, Gamma in seven. The next groups are assembled and have been apprised of their destinations. They will depart after brief shuttle inspections."

Tuvok's measured timbre soothed Chakotay's nerves. While the Vulcan would no-doubt be the first to tell him that they must end their efforts — and it was probably coming soon; needs of the many, and all that — he had no judgement for Chakotay, even as he saw straight through him. He would not follow Chakotay's path of anger and rage — he would not act from emotion as his commanding officer so clearly did every day — but he, too, was impacted by Kathryn's loss.

They all were, but for Tuvok, you do one thing, and then you do another; there was no vacillating between tolerating Chakotay one day, and losing patience with him the next. They would search, and then they would stop, and that would be that.

"What was the word from Beta team?" Chakotay could guess; he'd have heard already if it were otherwise.

"No success and no leads deemed worthy of further pursuit."

Chakotay sighed audibly and drew a hand to rub his forehead, caring for about half a second when he realized his bloody knuckles were now on display.

"Alright. Next?"

There was a pause of awkward length, as if they needed a minute to draw straws, eyeing each other, but then B'Elanna spoke.

"How much longer are we going to do this?"

Chakotay stared at her, eyes narrowed. Was this the woman he'd once counted among his closest friends?

"As long as it takes," he said, and there was a distinct "period" at the end.

B'Elanna met his gaze, and Chakotay prepared for a fight.

But then, with a sign, she withdrew, and proceeded with her engineering report.

The final challenge was coming — from her, from all of them — but not today.


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We are back now, with Chakotay on Koldera Minor, having left Voyager on his own. Thank you to everyone who has messaged and/or left comments! It really helps to keep me going. :)

 

* * *

He reasoned it was official now —  _Voyager_  was gone.

Staring at the PADD in his hands, he half-heartedly double-checked his math.

If they'd stuck to their schedule — and knowing Tuvok, it was likely they had — they were now virtually unreachable, speeding away from their last stop at high warp.

They'd given him the opportunity to change his mind and rejoin them, but he'd known, deep down, the minute his shuttle hit open space, that he'd never see  _Voyager_  again.

He wondered whose idea it had been, and if any of them had actually thought he'd turn on his heel and head back.

He pictured Harry Kim:  _"Maybe he'll come to his senses once he's out there alone for a few days?"_

And Tom Paris:  _"Not a chance. He won't stop until he's found out what happened to the captain."_

B'Elanna would have said it was stupid, reckless, foolish — and she'd probably insisted they prevent him from leaving.

_"We can't…we shouldn't,"_  Tom would have told her.

Tuvok had probably come up with the plan that had ultimately appeased everyone.

It was a nice gesture, even if it was based primarily on the notion that Chakotay had lost his mind.

They were gone now — Alpha-Quadrant bound. And even though he'd never actually entertained the possibility of getting back to them, Chakotay felt the finality of it as a heaviness in his breath.

_He missed them._

He ate the rest of his breakfast in quiet contemplation, the low din of the complex's air circulation system the only background noise.

The studio apartment was sparse and utilitarian, offering nothing beyond the bare essentials. He was accustomed to living like this — he was good at living like this. Ultimately, he knew how to get by with very little, and the distinct  _lack_  around him wouldn't  _get_  to him, mentally or emotionally.

But even still, he missed the crew — the noise of the mess hall. Parties on the holodeck. The laughter.

And, he missed the ship, itself. The pulse of the engines...his seat on the bridge...the sweeping star-field, visible at most times through the windows in his quarters...or Kathryn's...

He'd never have found a home there if it hadn't been for her persistent, tenacious manner...her firm insistence that,  _yes_ , they should be one crew. And  _yes_ , he should be by her side.

Sure enough, before he'd even learned his way around the place, she was there, claiming acres of precious real estate in his heart — even if she didn't realize it at the time.

Hell,  _he_  didn't even realize it — not at first. It had taken a while for him to understand that the calm, abiding equanimity he'd found, the lightness in his breath, and his renewed hope for life, in general, were due primarily to his close proximity to, and relationship with, the singular, fiery woman he had fallen in love with.

Now, he'd spend the rest of his days trying to figure out what happened to her.

He wasn't sure when it was that his language had shifted. Linguistically, "figuring out what happened to her" wasn't that different from "finding her." But aesthetically, it was a marker of his fading hopes.

* * *

Koldera Minor's central port hummed with the energy of myriad comings and goings, as people and goods were shuffled about, trades and other deals forming and un-forming, prospects brightening or dimming depending on where luck landed that day.

T'mal had helped Chakotay secure a job at the port, and for the fourth day in a row, the former Starfleet officer was teetering on the edge of his patience.

He knew the whole outfit — and indeed, the entire colony — was disorganized and borderline lawless, but the utter lack of care among port employees was even more extreme than he'd imagined.

T'mal was working things from his end (or so he said), while Chakotay searched for some advantage at the port…all while trying to resist the urge to punch his new co-workers in favor of blending in and learning the ropes. (Or the knots, more accurately.)

He stood next to Paitak, a middle-aged Kolderan who seemed to have an almost unnatural fondness of his job. Chakotay didn't particularly care for him, but so far, Paitak had been the only one who'd given him the time of day. Most of the port workers he'd interacted with wouldn't so much as tell him where to find the bathroom. Even the so-called "supervisor" had left him to fend for himself. It was puzzling — he did, after all, earn a wage, even if there was nothing specific he was supposed to accomplish.

It wasn't until he met Paitak that Chakotay worked his way into a position, with something closely resembling a set of tasks to mind.

They were stationed (using the term loosely) at "Incoming Port Control," where they monitored the size and speed of incoming vessels, directed them to the appropriate docks, and, essentially, made sure they slowed down on approach.

It had seemed like a big job at first, and Chakotay was shocked that  _this_  was essentially all that stood between the safe docking of ships and multiple collisions per day, but it turned out that most incoming traffic already knew where to go and how to get there. Most vessels were regulars, and Paitak enjoyed sharing stories about those he knew well.

The currently-inbound ship was such a vessel, and Paitak radioed it cheerfully:  _"Apex, this is IPC. Welcome."_

And, that was usually all there was to it.

Chakotay watched the monitors as the Apex came in on slow approach. He still felt a reflexive need to watch the ships for potential problems, and to gather data for the report he'd have to write up later (as if those existed here). But — today — with a breath, he decided it was time to (more or less) adopt the working attitude of those around him…so he sat down in his chair before the Apex was fully docked.

Paitak was fiddling with the personal communication device he always carried around, and when he noticed Chakotay watching him, he grinned.

"Still can't believe you don't have one of these. Though I guess I shouldn't complain!"

It was puzzling remark that Chakotay was about to write off as just another slightly "off" thing about this society, when he caught a clear glimpse of the screen.

He saw the words:  _Counteroffer accepted. Incoming._

And he watched as Paitak typed: _"Excellent — received. Pleasure seeing you again, Triel."_

_Triel_  was captain of the Apex, Chakotay knew — Paitak had talked about him before. " _I can always count on Triel,"_ he'd said once.

The Kolderan hit a few more buttons on his device, then sat back in the chair next to Chakotay's. He seemed rather satisfied — and, indeed, as Chakotay thought back over the past week, he almost  _always_  seemed rather satisfied.

"That device," Chakotay chanced. "It lets you communicate with the ships?"

Paitak laughed. "You really are the new guy, huh?"

Chakotay shrugged.

Paitak held the unit up, regarding it with a sort-of mock reverence. "With this, I can move anything!"

Chakotay wrestled with the broader picture, confused. "You…control the ships?"

"Well…" Paitak grinned impishly. "I suppose that's one way to look at it! 'Cause they're not getting in unless the offer's good!"

The fog was beginning to clear... _somewhat_. "They have to… _pay you_ , to dock here?"

Paitak laughed, but not unkindly. "Well, me… _someone_. There's a hundred of us, easy. But I've got a good rep, so I get a lot of the caps first, by default."

"You…compete with each other, for docking payouts?"

"Of course! And everything else besides! That's the way this place works, son."

Several pieces fell into place at once. The relative unfriendliness of his co-workers, save Paitak — it was because Chakotay represented new competition; someone else allegedly seeking the profit they were after. The lax administration, the lawlessness — it enabled and fostered the kind of free-for-all, profit-driven economy that seemed to draw so many beings to this otherwise pretty darn unappealing world. The lack of good, solid records — it was because they were all competing with one another, and information, connections, were  _power_.

_"I'm impressed — you were lucky to get in here!"_ Paitak's words echoed in his head. At the time, they were puzzling. Why would a port job be hard to obtain?

T'mal was apparently as well connected as he purported to be.

And Paitak's friendliness — he'd been at this a long time and was quite comfortable in his reputation, fully confident that he'd continue to make money. Chakotay, the new guy, wasn't a threat to  _him_.

Later, when his shift was over, Chakotay tried to reason through how this new knowledge might prove useful.

He needed money to live here, but he'd no desire to go after profits at the dock — or anywhere. And what would it gain him, anyway? He could get by on his small wage.

No — what was most valuable was the knowledge itself, and, more importantly, his developing friendship with Paitak.

He didn't know precisely how it would help, but it was  _something_.

If anything, it gave him a reason to hope.

Somewhere in the complex tapestry of Kolderan society, which, it turned out, ran somewhat deeper than he'd imagined, there had to be some answers for him.  _(Right?)_

* * *

Chakotay didn't acquire his own "communicator," or whatever the devices were called (he thought he'd actually heard someone refer to them as "gamers" once), but he stayed close to Paitak, working with him in IPC as often as he could.

And he had to admit, the man had grown on him, much in the way T'mal had.

Although Paitak knew nothing of Chakotay's true purpose, he remained a good source of inside information. Chakotay often found himself scribbling notes after his shifts, and in his spare time he would comb them over, searching for new insight. Sometimes he'd meet up with T'mal, ask questions that seemed to impress the man, take in more information, and then part company feeling, suddenly, like he was on the right path.

It wasn't that Chakotay was  _truly_  any closer to learning what had happened to Kathryn, but as he integrated further into Kolderan life, he felt like he was doing everything he could for the  _chance_.

* * *

A couple weeks later, after their last shift of the cycle, Paitak and Chakotay headed for the bar, a practice they had adopted as their friendship had grown.

Chakotay came to The Zenith quite often. After all, it was the last place Kathryn had been seen. He felt both closer to potential answers, and to her, when he was there.

The last thing he'd been expecting as Paitak led him to a corner booth, was… _a blind date._  But, sure enough, two Koldern women rose from the table, all smiles and giggles, as the men approached.

"Mala…Desrie…so good to see you both!" Paitak greeted them with kisses on the cheek, before hooking his arm around the woman he'd referred to as Desrie. He turned to Chakotay with a knowing smile.

"Girls, this is my friend, Amal. We work together."

Chakotay fumbled for speech — this was absolutely the last thing on his radar, and the last thing he wanted to deal with at the end of a work week. "Um, hello," he said.

"Amal, this is my girl, Desrie, and this is Mala. I thought you two would enjoy getting to know one another." He threw a gentle, knowing elbow at Chakotay's side, and then gestured for them all to sit.

Paitak quickly took the reins, perhaps a bit embarrassed by Chakotay's obvious lack of enthusiasm.

"Amal here, he's from…what did you say the planet was, again?"

"Earth."

"Right! Earth. Far, far from here. On the other side of the galaxy, in fact." He intoned it as if they should be impressed, and indeed, the two women smiled and  _"ohhh'ed"_  at him appreciatively.

"What's it like?" Desrie asked, snuggling into Paitak and eyeing Mala, presumably encouraging her to do the same.

Trying for the sake of friendship not to sound annoyed, Chakotay said, "it's a beautiful planet. Full of an incredibly diverse array of plants and animals, countless ecosystems… I miss it very much."

Mala seemed to sink back into the bench at that last part — Chakotay might not have actually noticed if Desrie and Paitak hadn't responded to her immediately.

"Oh, sweet girl," Paitak said. "Was it a full revolution, yesterday?"

She nodded and pressed her lips together, looked down at her hands for a moment. Desrie put one of her hands over them, and clearly Chakotay was missing something important.

Ever the bearer of information, Paitak filled him in. "Mala lost her partner, just a revolution ago. He was in the shipping trade, and just…never made it back... Not when he was scheduled to, and not after..."

Chakotay looked at her for what was really the first time, feeling genuine sympathy.

"I lost someone, too. A while back. Maybe around that same time, actually. It hasn't been easy."

She met his eyes, which were soft with sudden kindness, and slid a little closer to him, a combination of solidarity and attraction driving her interest.

Paitak signaled a waiter for drinks, and when the four glasses of his favorite… _bourbon,_  Chakotay wanted to call it…arrived, he raised his in the air.

"To…new beginnings," he said with a smile at Chakotay, and a wink at Mala.

Chakotay had no interest in the kind of "new beginnings" Paitak was driving at, nor in Mala, who was clearly still mourning the loss of her partner, but he raised his glass just the same, and toasted silently to his hopes.

The dark liquid was potent, burning in that cathartic way Chakotay found himself seeking rather often these days, as he tipped his glass back.

One drink led to another, and many more after that, and at some point in the evening, Chakotay realized hazily that he had actually forgotten what it was like, to feel the warm, close company of a woman.

It might have been after the fourth drink — maybe the fifth — when he realized Mala was damn beautiful. She laughed at his jokes, responded to his gestures, and once he was under the protective glaze of the alcohol, he found that he rather enjoyed it. And her.

Paitak was clearly quite pleased with himself when they all left the bar and Mala and Chakotay stumbled away together, heading back to her place or his.

His was closer, and that was where they ended up. Drunk, dizzy from the heady pulse of his airy, if somewhat detached desire, Chakotay closed the door to his apartment and pressed her up against it, kissing her hard.

She couldn't know, how long he'd been waiting, or how deeply he loved the woman he'd lost, so for a moment, it felt to Mala like she herself was everything in the universe he'd been searching for, so intense was his drive, so urgent his body felt against her skin.

He was drunk and some part of him knew this was not what he wanted, but in the moment he didn't care.

It had been too long, his desire too caged, and here was this woman, mourning loss just as he was, writhing against his body just as he was hers, hands fondling, searching, gripping…clothes falling away. He would have her, because she was  _someone_ , and because he was lonely and drunk — and damn it all, because his heart was broken and he could hardly remember what joy felt like.

He panicked briefly when he peeled her dress away, and wondered for the first time about her species' anatomy, but Mala answered his unspoken question when she grabbed his hand and placed it between her legs.  _Similar enough,_  he realized…

He felt only delight as she guided him to one of the chairs at his dining table, forcing him down onto it before straddling him.

In a small part of his brain, he felt an vast, immeasurable sorrow, as it occurred to him that  _this_  was what his life had come to. But as he watched Mala's pale blue body sink down on top of him, the sadness and all rational thought made a hasty exit, and he succumbed fully to the lust that burned in his core.

* * *

It was early morning when Chakotay woke to the sound of muffled sobs —  _hour of the wolf_ , he thought as he glanced at the clock.

His head spun as he sat up, sheets tangled about him, and he squeezed his eyes shut in an effort to fight the dizzying pain.

He could not recall, the last time he had had so much to drink.

Slowly, he rose, threw on his robe, and strode carefully out beyond the small partition that divided his sleeping area from the rest of the apartment.

There he found Mala, gathering her clothes amid half-choked sobs. She was startled when she looked up and saw him.

Wiping her face hastily with an item of clothing — her dress, it looked like — she tried to clear her throat but only managed to make herself cry more.

"Mala…what is it?" He took a couple of steps in her direction, but stopped short of her.

"I…I'm so sorry," she said, shaking her head. "You…you're wonderful.  _So wonderful._  But…I'm just not ready…"

If he was being completely honest, what he felt most of all in that moment — aside from still drunk, pushing into hungover — was relief.

He stepped in closer and put a hand on her shoulder. "Hey…it's okay," he said genuinely. "Truth be told, neither am I."

Chakotay thought he saw some of the tension fall from her frame just then, and when she finally looked up and met his eyes, she looked as relieved as he felt.

"I'll make us some hot drinks…reju sound okay?" It was the closest thing to coffee the station had to offer. She nodded. "Let's talk, okay? As friends."

...

_Little did Chakotay know as he heated the water, that his unexpected, unintended encounter with Mala was about to change everything..._


	24. Chapter 24

_"I want to apologize…_  I don't normally…"

Chakotay fumbled for words, his burgeoning sobriety amplifying the awkwardness of the situation.  _(Maybe he should have just let her go…)_

He stared down at the dark, warm liquid in his cup for a moment, delaying, and thought about how the stuff was a poor substitute for coffee (but that it was fascinating to think about how so many species and cultures had a like beverage).

Mala sat at the opposite end of the couch — the old, threadbare thing that had come with the apartment — quietly nursing her own cup.

_Beverages, sex, relationships…_   _More often than not,_ Chakotay thought,  _we find these things in common…_

"I'm sorry, Mala," he offered, trying again. "It was a moment of weakness for me…well, an evening of weakness, really…"

She looked like she was ready to dash up and out the door, and he still wasn't sure, why he was insisting they talk instead.

"You…you're lovely, Mala, and I…enjoyed our evening. I'd, uh, rather we didn't part with hard feelings between us."

"It's my fault."

She'd spoken so softly he had to ask her to repeat herself.

"I knew better," she said. "I mean, I know I'm not ready for a relationship.  _But I just thought_ …"

He nodded in silent understanding when she briefly looked his way.

"We have a lot in common, really. And...I don't think we should waste time feeling bad, or guilty, because of what happened last night. I think…we're both hurting. And maybe that's what drew us to each other… Well, aside from our friends setting us up…"

She laughed, seeming to appreciate his attempt to lighten the mood. But her melancholy ran deep.

"Stupid as it seems at this point, part of me is still waiting for him to make it back. And,  _not knowing_  what's happened…well, it's the worst feeling."

"I know exactly how you feel. In fact, it's the reason I'm here — because I can't live with  _not knowing."_

She pressed her lips together into a sad smile.

"You know, I was… _ashamed_  of him.  _What he does…_ Sometimes I used to think it would serve him right, if something happened out there. If a deal went bad, if their ship broke down, or worse. But I never  _really_  wanted that…I never stopped loving him... And I knew  _why_  he was doing it…" She choked back a sob. "It was for us,  _for me._ So we could have a future…"

From what Chakotay had seen at the central port, he wasn't surprised that, from what he could ascertain, her partner had been involved in some kind of shipping and trading operation. But it seemed to be a well-respected profession here — indeed, it was more or less the colony's entire reason for existence. He wasn't sure why she'd be ashamed of him for it. Maybe it was something religious in nature? Or perhaps they had some bad debts, and he wasn't working on his own terms?

"The are a lot of risks in the trade profession. You must have...worried a lot about him."

"All the time… But…I…felt so  _bad…_ for the women. I mean…they had lives… _families_ …"

Chakotay imagined it probably wasn't standard, for women to be in the business — and he realized he hadn't actually seen a female captain come into port since he'd started working there — but her partner and his associates must have employed them. And — he could only assume from what Mala had said — the familial sacrifices their business demanded must have been substantial and particularly difficult for the women. It didn't seem like they'd take families on board — too dangerous — so many of them no doubt left loved ones behind.

"It can be hard, having a job that takes you away from home..."

She continued on her train of thought, not really absorbing his words. "I thought this last time might be it. He said they had someone who would net them a big profit — more money than they'd ever seen, from that... _sale..._ alone. That he might be able to get out after this run. And I was  _so happy,_  thinking that we might be able to put it all behind us — thinking about how he wouldn't ever do it again. So I looked the other way, as I always do. Smiled and hugged him before they…" She shook her head and wiped her face with the back of her hand. " _It will be over soon,_ I told myself. Well…I guess it is over. Just not the way I imagined…and I'll probably never know what happened."

Chakotay sat very still as he considered her words. He wasn't sure he really understood what she was getting at. It sounded like her parter traded some kind of illegal or dangerous materials, with a crew that included women, probably working off some bad debts, and —

_They had **someone**  who would net them a huge profit…_

_What?_

He thought about the way she had said the word  _"sale"_  — with disgust...

Something started burning in the back of Chakotay's mind — something he couldn't quite get at.

Pulling his attention, Mala shook with fresh tears.

Distracted, his response was more default than heartfelt. "I'm sorry that you have had to go through all of this…"

He thought he should probably have more words — better words — to try and make her feel better, but he couldn't shake whatever it was, nagging at the back of his brain.

"What was…what did he deal in?"

She looked at him with narrowed, pained eyes, all of a sudden crying harder, and Chakotay felt an abrupt stab of frustration. His head was pounding, throbbing angrily with every peak of her crying, and…mostly, he was just ready for the encounter to end. (There was  _something_... He needed space to think...)

Chakotay went to refill his cup, and she must have sensed his soured mood, because she turned and called after him — " _I'm sorry_ …I thought you knew. It's not easy for me to talk about it."

"Knew what?" He said, back turned.

"The slave trade. I mean,  _you work at the port_ …"

"I've only been there for…" He trailed off, staring down at his cup.

A moment later, he crossed back to the couch in a couple of large strides, halting, a tense statue, directly in front of her.

"Your partner. He was in the slave trade?"

She nodded, sniffling.

"What kind of…. _slaves_?" The word felt bitter on his tongue, and when mixed with the thoughts and feelings spinning in the back of his mind, things he didn't quite understand but that had a distinct  _aura_  about them, he felt his stomach tightening, his pulse racing…

"It was women… _sex servants,_  mostly… They had this whole ranking system…" She shook her head sadly. "There were your low women, unskilled, simple…and then sometimes they made deals, found women who ranked higher…intelligent, skilled, beautiful. They'd get the most money for that type."

Chakotay was suddenly on the floor, on his knees in front of Mala, gripping her hands with both of his. "When? When was it that your partner left? How long ago?"

She looked alarmed at his sudden intensity, but he was sure she could also see, in his eyes, on his face, how important the answer was to him.

When she told him, how long ago, the date, he sprang to his feet and began pacing about.

"They took women with them?"

She nodded.

"How… _where_ …how many?"

"I don't know. A few. The only thing I know for certain is that they had someone they were going to sell for a lot of money."

"A  _high-ranking_  woman."

"Yeah…must have been. Colvin told me she was very unique."

"Did he…tell you what she looked like?" He stopped mid-pace, his gut knotting, breath stopped in his throat.

"No..."

He took in air again, let it out.  _Breathe!_

"Where do they…take them? Where did they go?" His pacing became furious again, and she felt dizzy as her eyes followed him back and forth.

"I…I don't know. Different places. Paitak might know…"

He was at the door before it occurred to him that he should put some clothes on.

He turned back to Mala, who had stopped sobbing in favor of regarding him, puzzled, maybe a touch irritated.

"I'm sorry — I have to go talk to Paitak. Come with me? I need you both to help me put these pieces together."

_"It's so early…"_

He threw his robe on the bed and pulled a shirt, pants, from a drawer.

"It's important," he called from the other side of the partition.


End file.
